


Trespass

by Rehfan



Series: The Maze War [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Slight Canon Divergence, Awkward Kissing, Blood, Canonical Character Death, F/M, First Kiss, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Minor Character Death, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slow Build, Suspense, Teen Wolf in the Maze, bloody wounds, eventual Scallison (for the series), eventual Sterek (for the series), mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 75,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn't mean to start a war. He really didn't. He just wandered off outside the Maze. He didn't even know he did it until he did it - until the werewolf Derek Hale was staring him down accusing him of a crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Teen Wolf AU Dystopia-verse](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/127983) by soldieronbarnes. 



> This story takes elements from the Dashner books AS WELL AS the film "The Maze Runner". The Maze is almost identical to the one in the book and there are landmarks that are similar in the Glade. I simply put the Teen Wolf cast inside the world of the Maze.

He didn’t mean to wander out of the Maze. He knew the solid stone was the only thing protecting him and his family from the wolves and the Cranks. He would never leave intentionally. It was only because the high walls intimidated most and the Maze itself confounded others that they were safe. Of course, everyone in the Glade knew the pathways out. It was part of being safe to know the whole of the Maze.

Stiles had learned the Maze along with all the other men women and children until it became like an old friend. And when he got older, he began to give back to the Maze by helping to plan out some of the better booby traps. It had made him popular with the other people in the Glade. He had even gotten the attention of that girl he had had his eye on. She seemed to appreciate a little intelligence. His rival for her affections, Donovan, didn’t. He had told him so that day with his fists and Stiles had had enough to want to fight back. He shouldn’t have. Lydia had seen him hit Donovan and all the points he seemed to have scored with her went flying out the window.

He was trying to figure out how to win her back - if only as a friend. He missed her easy laughter. He missed her wide green eyes. He walked along the pathways of the Maze, subconsciously avoiding all the trips and traps as he meandered, lost in thought. His staff spear thumped out a steady rhythm as he moved along, the large square stones that formed the floor of the Maze allowing his eyes to track an easy pattern as he moved along. They became more and more obscured by weeds, growing up through the cracks as he approached the western border gate. It was open for the Traders to come and go but was supposed to be out of bounds for all other Gladers. It wasn’t safe on this side of the Maze. This was where the wolves lived - the Werewolves of Beacon Hills - the ones that came after the Flare struck.

The Flare killed almost everyone. It happened when he was a little boy. This was before the Maze, before everything. Some said the Flare was a virus intentionally spread by the government, others said it was an accident. Stiles hadn’t cared. What the Flare meant was that there were those that lived and those that died and then there were those who were changed.

Stories had reached his ears the way most children learned to fear the bogeyman under their beds: there were people out there who could turn into wolves thanks to the Flare. And this ability, this curse, was so ingrained in them that even their children were possessed of that power. And they were all animals. They killed and they fed on human flesh. And if they bit you and let you live, you would become a mindless animal too. One of them, forever. And you couldn’t tell who was who if they got inside the Maze, inside your home, because in human form, they looked like everyone else.

No wolf was allowed in the Maze. A war had been fought to determine that. There were terrible losses of life on both sides. An uneasy peace was established, a treaty that set territories that were inviolate. Only Traders authorized and approved by both sides were given permission to travel outside the gates of the Maze and only on designated times and days of the week. In exchange, the Hale family of werewolves stayed in the hills outside the western gate and did no harm to any Glader who had official reason to be out. The Gladers remained in the Maze, safe from disease, safe from the bite of the wolf. The treaty held everything together; it kept everyone’s life simple.

Stiles didn’t notice the stones vanishing from underneath his feet. He didn’t notice that they were replaced with the soft earth, the same ground that existed in the Glade. On some level, he supposed he had returned to the Glade at the center of the Maze, his feet carrying him home automatically. So he kept walking. By the time he realized that the shade from the trees was different, that the ruts in the road were too deep, too wide, it was too late.

Suddenly he was there: tall, dark, brooding. He just stared at Stiles calmly, all relaxed confidence. He was clearly a human, but Stiles remembered the stories he had been told. The stories of the wolves in the skins of men. He snapped into action, all tension and alert wariness. He held his staff aloft toward him, the pointed tip ready to strike should he approach.

“Stay away from me, you monster!”

The creature said nothing. He simply stared at him, an eerie fire behind his eyes.

“Just let me get back to my people and no one has to get hurt.” He tried to keep his voice strong, brave. His heart was pounding.

The creature took a step forward and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m really scared of that dangerous stick of yours.”

Stiles realized that his choice of weapon was certainly woefully inadequate, but it was all he had. He decided to run. He turned, glimpsing the high walls of the Maze far in the distance through the trees of the forest, and raced back to the gate, a point lost far beyond a bend in the road. He felt his guts twist with regret at being so stupid as to wander off like he did.

The wolf barred his way. He didn’t see him run past him. He didn’t hear him. Stiles came up short and proffered his spear once more at the wolf’s chest. The monster looked down at his chest and then back at Stiles: “You didn’t seriously think you could outrun a werewolf, did you?”

Stiles swallowed hard, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears at the sound of the word: werewolf. “Please,” he begged, “I didn’t enter your territory on purpose. I just got lost. Just let me go home.”

The werewolf’s response was jarringly calm: “You know I can’t let you leave. So either you come with me willingly, or I’ll kill you. Your call.”

Stiles paused, his mind racing. “How do I know you’ll let me live?”

The next words out of his mouth were ones Stiles could have easily predicted. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

Stiles’ heart sank. He knew he had broken the treaty by trespassing. This day would not end well for him. He thought of Lydia, of Scott… of his father. If only he hadn’t been so distracted. If only he hadn’t done such a stupid thing. He wanted to cry but wasn’t willing to give the werewolf the satisfaction.

He lowered his spear and tried to remember what his father had taught him about the monsters beyond the Maze: “They can be reasonable, Stiles. They were human once. They remember. They know how scared we are, how tough we have to be to survive. We’re lucky that the wolf-people that live just outside our gates are good people. They see their changing as not only a gift, but a responsibility.” Stiles trusted his father’s judgment. He decided to be reasonable.

He looked into the pale eyes before him and said: “My name’s Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. What’s yours?”

The werewolf smiled slightly and answered: “Derek Hale. Come with me, Stiles Stilinski.”

 

~080~

 

Talia Hale was imposing, almost threatening, and Stiles wondered the power he sensed coming from her. “Welcome, Mr. Stilinski.” She looked sharply at him, eyes narrowed with no small amount of suspicion. “My name is Talia Hale. I’m the Alpha of this pack and I have all the authority necessary to take your life. Do you understand?”

Stiles looked around at the other Hales nervously: Derek stood off to one side in a large doorway that led to the main hall, leaning seemingly uncaring against the door jamb. The walk to the house had been quiet, Derek allowing Stiles to keep his “giant toothpick” as a weapon if it made him feel better “but it is entirely useless”. He hadn’t tried to run again but he did his best to memorize where they were going. Derek hadn’t spoken to him at all, despite his seven million questions. All he earned was an occasional grunt and a very exasperated request to “shut the hell up, Stilinski”.

Cora Hale stood against the other side of the same doorway, a confident grin on her face; Peter Hale sat behind Talia, his face unreadable.

“I understand,” said Stiles. “I also understand that if you just let me go home, I won’t go missing for too long to create a panic. I’ll be able to get back to the Glade before the outer doors close and no one would be the wiser.”

“Except that that flies in the face of our treaty,” Cora said. “It clearly states that any unauthorized rat will have to be exterminated.” She glared right at Stiles and added: “So I guess you’re a dead rat.”

“Cora,” said Talia in a warning tone. “That’s enough.”

“But-” she started. Talia Hale let out a low growl that made Stiles’ skin crawl and her eyes glowed red fire. Every hair on the back of Stiles’ head stood on end and he saw the other two stiffen their postures. Cora looked terrified for a split second before backing down. “Fine,” she muttered and looked off glumly, falling heavily into an overstuffed chair in the corner.

“While it is true that the treaty has been broken, the Glader has a point: if he returns unharmed, we keep the peace,” Talia said.

“And the peace is just so important,” purred Peter. “I mean, whatever would we do without the Munie rats in their Maze?” His sarcastic tone was not lost on anyone.

“Peter,” said Talia, “you know as well as I that the Gladers don’t actively hunt us. It’s bad enough that we have to worry about those Munies who take the law into their own hands and decide to wipe us out.”

Stiles risked a glance at Derek at that. His expression was shockingly cowed in the face of this discussion, as though he knew first hand what his mother and uncle were talking about.

For a moment Stiles didn’t know what to think. Could there be people out there immune to the Flare who would be brave enough to try to hunt and kill the Changed? How could they? Stiles knew nothing besides old wives’ tales about how to destroy a wolf, but silver wasn’t very plentiful inside the Maze and he didn’t know anyone who was stupid enough to stand up to a wolf.

“Hunters are no match for us,” said Peter, standing and walking to his sister, “And these Gladers are even weaker. I say we break the treaty, take them unawares with this boy to lead us in, and destroy them. We then keep the Maze and are able to better defend ourselves should Hunters come calling.”

Talia stared at him for a long moment. Stiles could see her actually considering his idea and his heart raced. Suddenly all eyes were on him. “Oh dear,” said Peter, “we’ve made the whelp nervous.”

Stiles could feel the sweat begin to gather on his brow and he trembled. They could rip out his throat if they wanted, but Peter’s idea of conquering the Gladers was the only thing keeping him alive. He could either live and help them kill his friends and family or live and start a war. It was good that he was getting to live, but at what cost? And after they got what they wanted, what was to prevent them from just killing him anyway? Stiles had never thought he would regret hitting Jackson because he was just a huge shucking douche, but there he sat, staring at four werewolves who were thinking of killing off everyone he had ever known, everyone he had ever loved, and it was all because he took a swing at Donovan. He saw Lydia’s hair in the sunlight, Scott’s smile in the firelight, his dad’s friendly smirk when he sat with him at dinner. He wanted to curl into himself and die, if only to save the world the trouble.

“No, Peter,” said Talia, “No, I think the Gladers need a reminder of who we are and what the treaty means.”

“What are you saying?” asked Peter.

“I’m saying that Derek should escort Mr. Stilinski back through the Maze and right back into his family’s arms.”

Derek stood up straight at that. “Mom?”

“Derek,” she said, “You found him; you return him. Do it in good faith and with a sense of goodwill. Do it with the family’s reputation in mind. I trust you, son.”

“What if they kill him?” asked Cora, sitting up. “What will we do then?”

“They won’t kill my son,” said Talia.

“How do you know? Why wouldn’t they just get rid of him on sight?” asked Peter.

She cast her gaze to Stiles. “Because I didn’t kill theirs,” she said.

 

~080~

 

“Your mom’s pretty intense, you know, with the whole growling and glow-y eye thing she can do,” Stiles commented as he and Derek made their way through the forest toward the western gate of the Maze. Derek said nothing. He just strode purposefully on ahead, seemingly knowing every tree and rock. Stiles thought he looked worried. He probably would be too if he had to do what Derek’s mom just commanded him to. Stiles thought he should say something to make him feel better.

“My dad’s pretty cool,” he said. “He’s chief of security in the Glade. He used to be a sheriff, you know, before… I’m gonna go on patrols with him starting next year. He said I couldn’t start until I was at least nineteen.” Again, Derek said nothing. His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his eyes held angry fire.

“You don’t need to worry about us Gladers trying to kill you, you know,” he went on, “My dad showed me a copy of it. I know it backwards and forwards. If we don’t harm you, the treaty stays in place. It’s all good on both sides. You really have nothing to worry about.” Derek remained a walking statue and Stiles gave up talking to him.

The trees swayed above them and Stiles could see how late in the day it was. The exterior doors to the Maze were automated but there were two sets: one at the main gate, the one they were approaching, and the other along the borders of the Glade itself that could be closed manually in an emergency. It was a double layer of protection so that if anything chased them into the Maze, there was an opportunity for the Glade to close its gates. But as it stood, the inner gates were synced to close when the main ones did. It was the easier everyday solution, but for Derek and Stiles it would be damned inconvenient if they were late.

The gates were programmed to close just before sunset. The Traders would have to be inside both sets of doors before then and so did Derek and Stiles. But that wasn’t the whole story. If Derek could deliver him back in time, get him all the way into the Glade, he may have to stay the night in the Glade before the doors re-opened in the morning. The manual opening and closing of the Glade gates had to be decided upon by committee because the safety of all the Gladers would be at stake, but the exterior doors? No one Stiles knew of had the key to them. And no one in the Glade could do anything without having a shucking meeting about it; a decision to return Derek would be moot no matter what.

Stiles watched the skies and hoped that they wouldn’t be too late. He didn’t want to be trapped in the Maze alone with a wolf who would have him for dinner if he got out of control with frenzy. He didn’t know how Derek would take it if they got locked in the labyrinth overnight, trapped between the outer doors and the inner ones, nothing but stones and vines and the Grievers to keep them company.

The Grievers. Stiles hadn’t really thought about them much. He hadn’t needed to. They patrolled the Maze at night so the Gladers didn’t have to. They were part machine, part living creature, hobbled together in the labs when they were constructing the Maze well before Stiles was able to feed or clothe himself. They had all sorts of attachments too from what he’d heard - ones that could inject a poison, others that could slice and dice an unsuspecting invader to bits. So far Stiles had never personally seen anyone being cut up or stung by the Grievers, that was probably a wives’ tale. Still… the stories existed and Stiles wondered if Derek and his people heard the Grievers’ cries in the night, heard them snuffling about, heard them moving with the steady _clack-clack-clack_ of their metal legs on the stones. Somehow he thought Derek knew. The feeling of dread coming off of the werewolf was palpable.

After an hour, they reached the road and looked along it. Derek sniffed the air and finally spoke: “If your Traders have come through, they did it a long time ago. I didn’t hear them as we were walking and I don’t smell them now.”

“The doors close automatically just before sunset,” said Stiles. “We have to go.” He paused and put an arm out to Derek. “Unless you trust me to make it back on my own. I know the Maze like you know the woods. I can make it back faster on my own. It’ll be fine. I’ll tell my dad what happened and he’ll pass your mom’s message along.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust you.”

Stiles blinked at him, surprised. “Why?”

“Because if I were you, I’d just keep my mouth shut about this whole thing and I wouldn’t ever venture out this gate again.” He looked Stiles up and down with a disgusted look. “You won’t tell them what needs to be told. And besides, even if you were as good as your word, why would they believe you?”

“They would believe me. My dad-”

“Your dad can go to hell,” he snapped. “My mother, my Alpha, has given me a task to perform. I cannot betray my pack, my family. I will go and you will lead me through. I will deliver the message, keeping my word to my mother. And then you will stay with your precious family and I will go back to mine and that will be that.”

Stiles swallowed and tried not to think about the darkening sky above them. “Then we’d better run,” he said. “Because the doors will close with or without us and if I’m not in the Glade by the time they do, and more than that - if you’re not outside the main walls by the time they do - there will be war in the morning.”

Derek gave him a curt nod of understanding and they both ran.


	2. Chapter 2

The pace was almost too much for Stiles; Derek’s supernatural speed was a terrible thing to try and match. At one point, Derek fell to all fours and galloped along, never too far ahead of Stiles, but always in the lead. He looked back occasionally to see if he was still following, but the boy had no desire to lag behind. He wanted to be in the Maze and in the Glade more than he ever had in his whole life. He just prayed that they both were on their respective sides before the final shuddering slam of the great granite walls.

He could see them looming over them in the distance. They were a giant gray border against the fading blue of the sky. Part of the tops had turned a light pink and it spurred Stiles on, his feet pounding along the ground faster than his racing heartbeat. “Come on!” growled Derek and he put on a new burst of speed, disappearing around the corner.

“Don’t leave me!” shouted Stiles and he meant it. Nothing frightened him more than being out in the Wolf Wood alone with the very creature that had served as his childhood nightmare. Not that Derek seemed like a monster; he didn’t. He was just a new person.

Stiles hadn’t met anyone new in practically his whole life - unless you counted the newborn babies. He didn’t really remember a lot about his life before the Glade. If he stretched his memory back as far as it would go, he remembered his mother calming him down after a nightmare. He had wandered off in his sleep and they were outside in the back garden. Roses framed her face as they sat together on the bench with the trellis behind it; the scent of his mother and the scent of roses would always be synonymous to him. That was a full five years or so before she died and they moved to the Glade. She must have had the Flare even then as she cooed at him and soothed his fears. Tears stung Stiles’ eyes at the sudden recollection of his mother and he pushed himself to run faster for her sake.

He could see Derek up ahead. He had made it inside the gate walls. They hadn’t begun to close yet. That was good. That was very very good. He didn’t even pause when he got there himself. He ran at full tilt past the waiting werewolf so that Derek could finally follow him for a change. The various traps and surprises scattered along the floor of the Maze corridors were obvious to Stiles, but Derek had never ventured beyond the gates in his life. He was as good as dead without Stiles leading him on.

And Stiles didn’t hesitate. He followed the maze back in the pattern he had learned since he was a kid. Right, right, left, right, around the hairpin to the left, straight past three more turns, right, left again, straight, straight, straight, left-right-left, until dead ahead there was the gate to the Glade. The green grass was dark, the light low, and someone had lit the torches outside the Gathering House. Stiles had never been more happy to see home.

A loud, low, grinding, rumbling began. The gates were closing - and they still weren’t in the Glade.

Stiles looked back at Derek, terrified. “Hurry!” he yelled. “We’ll be shut inside the Maze all night if we don’t! Quick!”

Derek blew past Stiles. He made it through the space with half the opening to spare and turned to wait for him. By the time Stiles had closed the distance, he had to slide his body through a two foot wide gap of door and wall. He was on the right side of it as it made its final slam home. Panting before Derek, hands on knees, he stared incredulously at him.

“I- I told you… You- You should have- just let me tell the Gladers- your mom’s message. Now- you’re trapped here- overnight,” he gasped. He clutched at the stitch at his side and bent double waiting for Derek’s response. The werewolf was barely winded and Stiles hated him for that.

“I have a job to do.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, forcing himself to straighten up, “your pack duty. I get it. But still - you’re trapped in here for the night. You know what that could mean, right?”

Derek shrugged. “Like you said: I have nothing to fear from you Gladers. Unless you were lying to me?”

Stiles stared at him a moment before answering. A team of security were coming toward them, cudgels, spears, and bats in hand. “I hope I wasn’t,” muttered Stiles.

They regarded each other as the team approached. Stiles knew everyone in the group, especially the sandy-haired, blue-eyed John Stilinski, Chief of Security in the Glade and former Sheriff. He had a look of relief on his face that stung Stiles heart with guilt. “Dad, I-” he began but his father swept him up in a tight hug, swaying him from side to side.

“Stiles,” his father managed, “Stiles, where in hell have you been?” He pulled him away, holding him at arms length, scrutinizing his appearance.

“I- um… I-” he started.

John Stilinski did a double take at his son’s companion. “Oh my God,” he said with more than a little trace of horror. “You’re a Hale.”

Derek nodded and said: “I am. And I have a message. Are you the leader of the Gladers?”

“No,” said John, “we have a committee of nine. They make all the hard decisions for the Glade. I’m one of the nine, but… I think I know what the message will be.” He looked to his son. “Stiles, what did you do?”

“What? Dad! No!”

“Stiles,” said John, his voice holding a warning tone.

Stiles sighed. “Dad… I was upset. I got lost in thought. I wandered off. It won’t happen again, I swear!”

“Wandered off?” asked his father. He blinked hard before asking carefully: “Do you mean to say that you wandered off… outside the Maze walls? And… _into the Wolf Wood_?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Y-yes?”

He could see his father mentally counting to ten. “You’re grounded, mister. Two weeks - and that’s just for starters.”

Stiles didn’t even bother to argue. He felt awful. “Okay, dad,” he said glumly.

“Go to your room right now,” said John. “I’m so angry with you, I can’t even speak. How dare you risk the lives- You know what? Go. Go now before I say something I’ll regret. GO!”

Stiles set off at a quick trot toward their house in the corner of the Glade. It was a log cabin affair, like most other homes in the Glade and he opened the door, raced to his room upstairs and collapsed on his overstuffed down mattress, falling into its softness, feeling like he didn’t deserve its comfort.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he heard was the slam of the front door and voices in the hall. He lifted himself up off the mattress and sat on its edge awaiting his fate. Grounding usually meant never being out of his father’s sight unless he were in his room or in school. And even then, his dad would make some excuse to periodically pop his head in just to “check in”. For a split second he wished he and Derek had gotten trapped in the Maze overnight, but then he took it back. He cared about his dad too deeply to worry him for that long. He would take his punishment for as long as his father saw fit and he would do it without complaint because he knew he screwed up.

He looked around his room, noticing all the little things he managed to ignore in normal times: his desk cluttered with his schoolwork, his lacrosse stick that needed its netting fixed, his shoes at the bottom of his tiny closet. On his bookshelf was a small careworn stuffed teddy bear his mother had given him before her final trip to the Crank Palace. He didn’t like to play with it; it hurt too much to do that. But it hurt too much to give it away, so he just kept it right next to the family picture he was too little to remember having posed for.

“You can stay in here,” his father’s voice said from the other side of his bedroom door. The door opened and Derek Hale stepped inside followed by his father. His dad didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked angry - and exhausted.

“Hey,” said Stiles. He had honestly not given Derek’s lodgings a thought but it made sense that his father would take him in. He’s just glad Derek wasn’t ordered locked in the concrete jail or worse - thrown out in the Maze overnight by Isaac’s dad. The Jail was a cinderblock structure with a steel door and a tiny window and nothing else - no furniture, no nothing; it was more like hell. A dark and cold hell. And the Maze overnight? That was the belly of the beast.

“Derek is spending the night here. I hope your bed is in clean,” his father said.

“Changed the sheets this morning,” said Stiles. “So… we’re… sharing a bed?” He looked between Derek and his father honestly curious as to the sleeping arrangements for the night.

Derek looked surprised. His father looked exasperated. “No, you dumbbell,” said his father. “Derek gets the bed. You get the floor.” He walked to the closet and got a blanket and pillow off of the high shelf, throwing them at his son. “Make do. Your punishment starts with this.”

Derek thanked John quietly and the Chief nodded and left saying, “I’ve got to attend an emergency meeting of the committee now. Try and make yourself at home, Derek. My son can get you dinner if you’d like. Or be your dinner, as the case may be.” Again Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise and Stiles swallowed hard. John shook his head, “You know I don’t mean it, Stiles. Just… be a good kid and don’t screw up again. Feed the man and go to bed. Okay? I’ve got to figure out what to tell the rest of the committee.”

“Sure thing, dad,” said Stiles. He stood there awkwardly with the blanket and pillow in his hands, but he still managed to give his father a goodbye wave as he left the room at last. There was a moment of quiet as Stiles threw the items on his bed and turned to Derek. “So… you hungry?”

“Not really, but I should eat,” said Derek. “I’m more exhausted than anything, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep much here.”

Stiles looked at his bed and back at Derek. “This is one of the nicer beds in the Glade, dude. I wouldn’t turn your nose up at it if I were you. We may not have much, but what we have we try to take care of, you know?”

Derek held up his hands in a defensive posture. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure the bed will be fine. It’s just - your committee. They could decide to do something drastic in the middle of the night and I don’t think I want to sleep through their decision or the consequences that follow.”

“They won’t kill you,” said Stiles.

“No offense, Stiles, but you really can’t guarantee that.”

Stiles stared at Derek for a long moment. “You’re right. But I can guarantee that my dad will go to bat for you. He’ll defend you because you delivered me home unharmed. He’ll explain that to the other committee members and it’ll count for a lot. I swear.”

Derek’s eyes were unreadable, but with the closed-off posture of his arms crossed and the pressed lips, Stiles knew that he didn’t believe him. He decided to drop the subject for now. “Come on, Der. Let’s get you some dinner.”

 

~080~

 

Dinner was scrounged from the Glader mess tent in the center of the Glade. Over it, the conversation turned from the Gladers and their roles, how they survived, lived, and died to the Hale family and how they survived, lived, and died. They moved easily into family history: Derek spoke his dad who had long since passed from the Flare and who’s leather jacket he was currently wearing; they talked about Stiles’ mom and how much her passing hurt him, how much he missed her. Stiles even contemplated showing Derek his teddy bear. He told him about her scent, her smile. It was nice to say this stuff out loud for once instead of just thinking about it all the time.

He had never really talked about his mom until Derek came along and Stiles wondered at his easy calm and how it made it simpler to talk about difficult things when he had someone who was not only willing to listen, but to silently sympathize. He wouldn’t talk to his dad about her and he told Derek as much; he didn’t want to hurt him with the memory. After all, his father was the one who made the decision to send her off to the Crank Palace outside of Sacramento. She couldn’t be in the same house with her seven year old son and care for him when she was past the final stage.

The Flare’s stages were distinct and violent and the last stage - called “the Gone” because once you were past it, there was no human part of you left - rendered you totally insane: bleeding from the eyes and skin, veins covering your body, spidery and purple. It left you a heaving, biting, thrashing mess and then you died - in agony. And there was still no cure.

Derek was struck by the Flare at the age of fourteen, about the same time Stiles was being comforted under the rose-covered trellis. He survived it along with all the family members Stiles had met that day. His father didn’t make it. His grandparents passed too. Talia survived it first; the first of his family to go through the Changing. Because of that, because of the weakened state of all the others - her brother included - she was to be the Alpha in the family. And one day, Derek told him, his sister Laura would take it on.

“What about Peter?” Stiles asked. “Isn’t he Talia’s brother? Wouldn’t the Alpha status pass to him?”

“No,” said Derek, “It’s for the strongest and usually the first born in a generation - unless the next in line is weakened somehow or the Alpha is killed by another - then the status moves to the victor.”

“Kind of complicated,” said Stiles. He moved the remnants of his applesauce around his plate. He didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to keep Derek here and talking to him. If they went to bed, then morning would come all that much sooner and Derek would be gone from his life forever. He liked the idea of having new friends. He wanted Derek to stay. But that would be up to the committee. And no committee of the Glade, past or present, would ever allow a wolf to have free passage through the Maze to the Glade. But Stiles could hope that in the future things might change.

Of course, that was provided the committee allowed Derek safe passage back to his pack at all. He hoped they would. He hoped that Mr. Whittemore and Scott’s dad wouldn’t be too unreasonable - not to mention Isaac’s dad. He was a real prick and a half. Lydia’s mom was reasonable and Finstock could be talked into it. But those three - especially Mr. Lahey - would be the tough nuts to crack.

As if reading his mind were another superpower he possessed, Derek asked him: “Do you know of anyone living here who actively hates my kind? Someone who could sway the committee?”

Stiles watched his fork make patterns in his applesauce and said: “Yeah. There’s a few, but one in particular. One of my friend’s dad.”

Derek nodded and ate another bite of his pork, chewing thoughtfully. “How long will the meeting take, do you think?”

“No idea,” said Stiles. “They could be at it all night.”

“Are you going to eat that or just make a triskelion in it?”

“A what?” Stiles looked up at Derek. He hadn’t realized that he was swirling his applesauce in a spiraled pattern.

“That’s a triskelion,” Derek said.

“It is?” asked Stiles. “Does it mean anything?”

“It can mean a few things, but to me, it means ‘Alpha, Beta, Omega’.”

“Cool,” said Stiles.

“You probably saw something with that pattern in my house,” said Derek. “That’s where you got it from. It’s a symbol we use to help us focus. It helps control the Changing.”

“I think your mom was wearing a necklace with it,” said Stiles. “I’d say it was silver, but…”

“No,” said Derek, “it’s pewter. No silver in our house.”

“So it is true,” said Stiles, his voice almost reverent. He didn’t want to offend his first new friend in eleven years. “Silver can kill you guys.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment and Stiles held his breath. He wasn’t sure if he had crossed a line or not, but Derek’s response meant the world to him. He waited nervously, an apology on his lips when Derek finally said: “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Stiles stared at his plate, his gut wrenching. He crossed a line. “Sorry, man,” he muttered. “Me and my big mouth, huh?” He flicked a glance to Derek who stared off into the middle distance, lost in a thought or a memory. “You okay, dude?”

“Hmm?” asked Derek. “Yeah, fine. Let’s just try and get some sleep. Some will be better than none, huh?”

They washed the dishes side by side in the mess kitchens, neither one speaking. Somehow the awkwardness of the earlier moment was washed away with every dirty spoon cleaned and as they made their way back to the house and mounted the stairs their quiet became companionable.

 

~080~

 

The house was in the southwestern corner of the Glade next to a copse of trees and Stiles’ window looked out onto them. The moonlight dappled into the room through the swaying leaves and they both lay awake watching their play on the far wall. Stiles couldn’t hear Derek breathing in the dark, but he had no doubt that the werewolf could hear him. And scent him. He had never been this close to someone who was so different and the questions he had for Derek almost overwhelmed his brain. But a lot of those questions were way too personal for Derek. They had just met that day and while Stiles’ mouth could get away from him sometimes, he did have a sense of propriety.

But he was seriously bursting to ask him.

“What is it, Stiles?” Derek’s voice made him start.

“What’s what?”

“I can scent your curiosity from here,” he said. “Just ask me what you want to ask, okay? And then go the fuck to sleep.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, attempting to organize the questions into some semblance of order, “how did you know that I had questions?”

“Besides the obvious? Because I could smell it on you. Scent is a powerful indicator of emotion. Each person has their own chemo signals. And your scent changes with your emotions: fear has a tang to it, sadness has a dull thick scent, eagerness has a stimulating odor, like biting into a fresh orange.”

“You know you just compared a smell to a taste, right? But I get it.” He paused for a moment and asked: “Does it hurt? To change, I mean? And what happens? Because people say it’s like one second you’re human and the next second you’re a wolf. I’m kind of thinking that that would hurt.”

“It’s different for everyone,” said Derek slowly. “My younger sister and I can’t go full wolf, but my mom and my elder sister can. But my uncle’s wolf isn’t like the wolf you think of in nature. His is… bigger, more vicious. I’ve only seen him do it a couple of times. It’s pretty intense.”

Stiles swallowed hard and didn’t say anything for a time. He was too busy imagining Peter Hale coming at him as a gigantic monster wolf.

“And that would be the smell of fear,” said Derek into the darkness that surrounded them both.

“Sorry,” said Stiles. “I’m uh… just picturing angry werewolves.”

“I would be too,” said Derek. “But as my mother says: we’re predators, but we don’t have to be killers.”

Stiles paused in thought, letting his words sink in before asking: “So how is it for you? And does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt, but there is a difference, a shift in existing. It’s a bit like bringing a deep-seated emotion to the forefront; one you’ve been suppressing so long you didn’t realize you were doing it. But when it’s out there and on display, it feels like the real you, you know? It feels like it fits.”

“Like when I’m running the Maze,” said Stiles.

“What do you mean?” asked Derek. “Are you telling me that you just go and run in this gigantic Maze all day? Why? What for?”

“I don’t do it all day,” said Stiles, “just on my free time. And I do it for a few reasons: to learn it, to teach the younger ones, to check on our defenses, to get a little peace and quiet.”

“What’s to learn?” he asked. “Once you’ve memorized it, there’s nothing more to know, right?” He paused and added: “I mean, it’s not as if the walls move around or anything.”

Stiles couldn’t tell him. If he didn’t know about the walls shifting every night, then he had no right to reveal their last line of defense. The Grievers were just one element. The Maze shifted its patterns every night too, helping to confuse any trapped enemies. If Derek had asked about the noises coming from the Maze shortly after moonrise, he would probably have told him that it was the Grievers. He could never tell him the truth about that outright; he wouldn’t live to regret divulging that piece of information - every Glader would want his head for that. But as Derek didn’t know… “I just like it, okay?” he said.

“Okay, rat,” said Derek.

He paused before asking: “Have you ever met any other packs?”

“I know that there are more of us out there in the hills,” he said. “But I’ve never met them. There’s one called Deucalion. My mom’s met him. He’s an Alpha like her. He has a pack. There’s also a set of twin Alphas out there, so my mom says. They’re identical twins and they can combine to create one big werewolf. She said it was pretty creepy.”

“And if your mom is freaked out about that, then I suppose me being freaked out would be an appropriate response, huh?”

“Pretty much,” said Derek. “The standard rule is: if the thing that has you terrified is also terrified, you should run.”

“No clunk,” said Stiles.

“That reminds me: I have a question for you,” said Derek.

“Go on,” said Stiles.

“Why do you use words like ‘clunk’ when you mean shit and ‘shuck’ when you mean fuck?”

“Oh that,” said Stiles, shrugging even though Derek couldn’t see him. “We had a preacher here for a while. Old guy. Hated when kids cursed. And since he was old, he considered everyone else in the Glade a kid. He used to get us to use other words. I suppose it stuck.”

“Huh, seems legit,” said Derek.

“Preacher’s been dead for a few years now,” said Stiles. “He used to be the one to hold all the religious stuff around here. He used to have us pray for you and your kind. Pray that the treaty would hold. Guess I sort of screwed that one up.”

Derek was silent for a long moment, letting any opportunity for accusation pass him by. Stiles took it as a sign of him being polite. It was actually kind of nice. Finally Derek broke the silence: “Any more questions or can you finally go to sleep?”

“One more,” said Stiles. “Let’s say you meet someone - another wolf - fall in love and have little pups. Would they be like you? Or would they be Munies like me? Or would they just die from the Flare?”

“I have no idea,” said Derek. His voice seemed hollowed out; Stiles had hit a nerve. “I don’t know that I’ve thought about it that much because….” There was another long pause filled with the sound of a soft wind through the trees. “Go to sleep, Stiles,” he whispered at last. “Just- go to sleep.”


	3. Chapter 3

The wind howled that night. Stiles could hear it in his dreams. He stood on top of the Maze and ran along the top of the walls with the clouds swirling above his head and the ground shadowed below him on either side. It was a dream he had had many times before. He was looking for something. The wind blew his hair and cast leaves across his shins and on he ran, turning this way and that, the walls moving to accommodate his steps. He wasn’t tired or winded. If anything he felt free, like he could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he pleased. All around him was the Maze and the Glade was to his right and over his shoulder. He could barely see it but he wasn’t afraid. He just kept running.

The walls were different here. His feet found soft earth bordered by stone to either side, as if someone had dug a trough in the tops of all the Maze walls and filled them in with dirt. It was a cushion beneath his shoes and he loved the smell of it, fresh turned earth and undergrowth. He kept running. The soft pitter-pat of his feet along the ground was comforting. The sound of the wind - even though it was whipping at him - was peaceful. He smiled at the soft sun and marveled at the swirling clouds, like whipped cream in a bowl.

The object he sought was still out there, but he was in no hurry today. It was too nice out. Still, he had to keep moving, keep following the Maze wall. Right, left, right, right… the pattern was familiar. It was the eighth cycle of the walls. There were only eight total and the eighth one was his favorite. It was the first one he had learned.

Bobby Finstock had made sure that every child learned the Maze once they were old enough to run. Everyone called him “Coach” because of it. He would take them out in groups at first, showing them the first traps, showing them what to look out for. And in the beginning, they only did it once every eight days, so that they would always learn the same pattern. Then they were told the secret about the noises in the night: that it wasn’t just the Grievers shuffling about out there, that the Maze itself lived and breathed and moved.

It was a scary concept for a eight-year-old. And that’s why none of them ever went into the Maze without an adult runner when they were learning. They had plenty of volunteers. One hundred and three people lived in the Glade. It should have felt crowded, but it didn’t. Some lived and some died, but the numbers usually hovered around a hundred. Nine of them sat on the committee, Coach Finstock included. The rest worked at specific jobs: The Builders were former architects and construction workers who routinely fixed the structures around the Glade, making them stronger, bigger. The Med-jacks were the medical team that took care of the Gladers’ health. Former farmers worked the Gardens looking after food production and some were Traders headed into the local human township to gather supplies and news. Other Traders were former businessmen and women, savvy with supply and demand and what a fair price was. They would get the other supplies that were needed: everything from toiletries and tools, to clothing and shoes. No one who wasn’t an approved Trader could leave the Maze. That was the treaty rule and the Glade rule too. It was the only way to keep everyone safe.

Not that they didn’t have their fair share of people who tried to run. There had been less of them since the treaty, but his father told him that once there was a group of twenty-five who took off one night just an hour before the Maze doors closed. By the time the committee had been gathered and informed, they had made it out the eastern gate and toward the river, some sixteen miles in the distance. The only reason the Gladers knew anything of their disappearance was because one of their number had gotten scared and turned back. He spent a full night in the Maze and told them the next day of the plan and the direction they had headed in. The only reason they found out how far they had gotten was the discovery of their bodies along the river’s edge.

Stiles stared out into the dreamscape of the eastern skies where he could see the silver glint of the river through the trees as it wound its way southward, the waters coursing in a meandering wave like a snake slithering through grass. They said the Twenty-five (as they had come to be called) had died from a wolf attack. Said they were mangled and torn up. Stiles remembered this when something bit his ankle. He looked down to see a silver snake slide into the grasses that grew from the dirt at the top of the Maze wall. He felt dizzy and he lost his footing, only catching himself at the last moment. His hand went out and grabbed the tree that was suddenly there to support him. And then he wasn’t on the Maze wall anymore. He was in the forest. Derek’s forest.

He spun around in a circle, the trees going one way while his body went the other and the wind continued to howl and shake the branches all around him. “You shouldn’t be here,” said Derek and his eyes found him.

“You,” he said. “I- I was bit.”

Derek nodded. “And now you’re one of us.”

“But I was bit by a snake,” said Stiles. It didn’t make sense.

“Don’t you want to be part of my pack?” he asked. He was suddenly closer. Stiles could feel his body heat.

“Sure,” said Stiles, running his hands up and down Derek’s arms, “Love to. Where do I sign up?”

Derek was so close to him now. He could smell oranges. And roses. “Let me bite you,” he said soothingly. “Let me mark you. You can run in the forest freely after that. A wolf, not a rat. How does that sound?”

“Derek,” he sighed, falling backward into leaves and soft earth, the weight of Derek on top of him, the taste of him in his mouth, the soft velvet of his tongue slipping past his own. He felt himself get hard, his erection digging into the crease of Derek’s hip. Derek’s own interest was undeniable and he felt the wolf buck against him as Stiles tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

 

~080~

 

“Everyone just back off,” said his father. “Stiles! Stiles!”

Stiles blinked up into the trees and swore he was still dreaming. “Wha-?”

“He’s alright everyone,” said John. “Let’s just back off now, alright? Nothing more to see. The committee convenes in an hour. Go have breakfast. It’ll be fine.” He turned back to his son. “Stiles, are you hurt?”

“I don’t know what happened,” said Derek. They were both kneeling beside him as he lay there staring up at the trees behind them both, the new dawn lighting the sky beyond. “One minute he was fast asleep, the next minute, he’s out the front door and running through your Glade.”

Stiles felt himself flush with embarrassment.

“Sleepwalking,” said John with a sigh, “He used to do it all the time when he was a kid, especially after his mom-”

“He told me,” said Derek. “I’m sorry. The Flare changed us all.”

“Yeah,” said John, giving Derek a small smile. He looked down at Stiles. “Do you remember anything?”

“No,” said Stiles, pushing away the traces of his dream and willing his morning wood away. “Where am I?”

“In the woods outside the house,” said John. “Come on,” he offered his son a hand up, “big day today and we don’t have time to worry about this now.”

Stiles realized the stress he was putting on his father and the guilt hit him like a punch to the gut. “Dad,” he said, standing slowly, “I’m sorry I’m so screwed up.”

John Stilinski stopped in his tracks and held his son by the shoulders, eyes boring into his son’s sad face. “You are not screwed up, Stiles. You’re my son. No one’s perfect, kiddo, but you? You’re the most perfect imperfect son a man could have. Now come on. We’ve got a lot to do and a huge populace to calm down. It was the neighbor’s kid that found you out here with Derek. The way gossip moves around the Glade, they’ll have you both strung up by sunset. We’ve got to quell rumors and get Derek out of here. What we don’t need is a riot.”

They went back into the house and as soon as he could John left them both sitting in their small living room to go tend to the people of the Glade and their questions.

“You were right,” said Derek. Stiles looked at him with a tired questioning expression. “Your dad is pretty cool.”

Stiles gave him a small grin and sighed. “Gotta get cleaned up.”

“How’s your ankle?” asked Derek.

“What?”

“Well, I followed you out on your little adventure and in the woods I was finally able to stop you. You looked me dead in the eye and said that something bit you. I was wondering if you’re okay.”

“I did?” Stiles vaguely remembered that part of the dream, but he felt himself blush again regardless. The dream was all Swiss cheese in his mind at that point, but the very end of it? That he remembered. He shook his head and looked down at his bare feet. “I’m okay. Must have been part of the dream.” He looked at Derek who seemed concerned - more than he should be perhaps - but it was nice. “I’m gonna get a shower.”

He rose and gathered his things, shower shoes in his hand; his feet were already filthy, there was no point in getting the shoes dirty too. He went out the front door and toward the showers and toilets. Derek watched him go from the front door of the Stilinski home.

 

~080~

 

By the time the warm water hit him, he was desperate to relieve himself from the part of the dream that he did remember. He had the Gladers shower all to himself and held the side of the wooden stall for balance as he stroked himself off with a soapy hand. His brain was still buzzing with the imagined smell and taste of Derek Hale and he took his time moving his hand from his balls, up his cock, circling the head with a lazy finger, and moving it off completely, up his chest and to a nipple.

His breath deepened and he pinched his nipple slightly, reddening the nubbin and making it stand erect. He wondered a million things. He wanted a million things. He wondered what Derek would look like watching him. Would he want him too? He remembered his voice in the dark: soft, strong. He imagined it in his ear whispering filthy things.

A rush of heat to his groin brought his hand back to the thatch of dark hair above his cock. He slipped his hand through it, feeling its coarseness as his fingertips teased the base of his shaft. He wrapped his hand around and tried to imagine it was Derek’s hand cupping his balls and moving over his hardness. He took his prick in his hand and watched the soap bubbles build up as he thrust himself into his fist.

The water beat hard against the back of his neck and he tried to picture Derek behind him, the shower’s warmth as Derek’s warmth. his hand as Derek’s hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered. The word felt foreign on his tongue, forbidden. “Fuck,” he said a bit louder. He panted, smiling. “Just like that… yeah. Fuck.” His voice was braver and braver as his climax built, pleasure flooding his system. Soon it all fell away: the shower, the sound of the water, even his grip on the shower stall. All that existed was the hunger for strong arms around him, the heat against the back of his neck, the thrust of his hips toward his fist, all of it bringing him closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

He came hard all over the side of the shower stall the word “FUCK!” echoing off the walls of the structure. He looked behind himself furtively for anyone who might have seen him but there was no one there. He collapsed against the wall of the stall and caught his breath. He was numb mentally as his body recovered from his orgasm. Slowly, carefully, he slid down the wall until his ass was on the concrete floor.

Lazily he watched the water beat against the floor and circle down the drain. He wondered if that’s where the Glade/Wolf relationship was going: down the drain and off to God knows where.

He had to get back. He needed real sleep, but more than that, he wanted to see Derek again. He wanted to defend him against anyone who would speak ill of him, Mr. Lahey, Mr. McCall, all of them be damned. Derek’s family saw fit to save him; he would do the same for Derek.

 

~080~

 

Twenty minutes later he was back and feeling more awake and human. He only hoped Derek couldn’t smell the sexual release on him as he got dressed quickly and they both headed to the Mess Hall to have a late breakfast. Most of the other Gladers had gone off to the Gathering House to hear the committee’s decision about the wolf in their midst - the one who had almost killed Stilinski’s son just that morning. Stiles and Derek sat practically alone in the big lodge house that served as their community eatery. It was a simple breakfast: eggs, toast, coffee. And it would have been pretty peaceful if it weren’t for the shouts coming from the angry crowd that was forming outside the Gathering House.

“You’re certainly popular,” said Melissa McCall to Derek as she poured him some more coffee. She was the only one working the kitchens as everyone else had seen fit to stand around the Gathering House and await judgment on the fate of a person they had neither seen nor met. “And you don’t look like you’re on death’s door, Stiles,” she said to him smiling. She had been a nurse before the Flare, but all that death and disease had turned her off to nursing and she never ended up joining the Med-jacks, the healers of the Glade. These days she contented herself with cooking meals for the Gladers, venturing out of the Maze as a Trader, and taking care of her son Scott, Stiles’ best friend.

“I’m not,” said Stiles around his scrambled egg. “Everyone thinks I am though. But once they see me, it’ll all be fine.”

“Well, Scott was worried,” said Melissa, “and so was I.” She looked at Derek. “I can see why you were suspected of the assault. If you don’t mind me saying, smiling at people might help improve their opinion of you.”

“I’m not here long enough to matter,” said Derek. “Thank you for your hospitality. If it were up to me, I’d leave once the gates are open, but I can’t.”

“Oh, you’d better not do that,” said Melissa. “The committee and those that sit on it are the authorities around here. Once they meet up and decide that they need to decide on something that needs a decision, they decide to table the decision and nothing happens anyway.”

Derek grinned at her for that. Stiles stifled a snorting laugh.

“But wait,” said Stiles, “aren’t you _on_ the committee?”

She smiled softly at him. “I’m abstaining from a vote on this one. Mostly because the whole damn thing will take forever.”

“Gotta love the slowly turning wheels of democracy in action,” said Derek.

“True,” said Melissa. “And also because I refuse to have anything potentially negative to do with the Hale family.” Derek gave her a soft grin. “And that’s a nice smile. It’s good to see. Welcome to the Glade, Derek Hale.”

“You know, you’re the first person that’s said that to me since I got here?” said Derek. Melissa’s gaze flicked to Stiles, who managed to look sheepish and dig at his eggs.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Melissa. “You know, as a Trader, my job takes me past your territory all the time. Your family has never caused us trouble. I’m not about to cause trouble for you. Besides, on all the trips I’ve made, I never see any of you.”

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “Floppy hat, red, I think.”

“That’s me,” she said, smiling. “I do have to say: the more trips I make out of the western gate, the less I fear you. I trust in the treaty. And I trust those on your side of it. As far as I’m concerned you’re harmless to us. Not only because of your inaction here today and last night, but because you brought Stiles home safely. That in and of itself speaks volumes to me as a mother.” She passed a hand over Stiles’ head affectionately. “He’s like a son to me and you brought him back safely. You’re wonderful.” She stepped to Derek and put an arm around his shoulder. She kissed the top of his head gently and walked away smiling.

Derek stared at Stiles who stared at Derek. Derek looked impressed and it was all Stiles could do to suppress an indulgent smile. They ate the rest of their breakfast and hurried out into the morning to put everyone else’s fears to rest.

 

~080~

 

“Let us through!” shouted Stiles and almost instantly a hush fell over the crowd. He walked through the group of Gladers with Derek at his back with no resistance whatsoever.

“I thought you were dead!” shouted Scott. He emerged from the crowd nearest the door and hugged Stiles fiercely. “Man, you look okay!”

“Thanks, man,” he said and smiled. “Meet Derek. Derek Hale.” He turned and introduced Scott to Derek.

Scott blanched. “Uh... hey. Nice to meet you Derek.” They shook hands.

Stiles’ smile faded as he looked to the crowd that surrounded them. They looked agitated and nervous. He raised his voice so they could all hear. “It’s okay everyone. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me at all. Just escorted me home and got caught inside after the gates shut. That’s all. He’s going home today. No need for panic or alarm, okay? Just… go home. We’re going in to talk to the committee. Everything will be fine.”

There was a general muttering from the crowd and some people even wandered off. Others stayed to stare at the monster that was Derek Hale. Stiles could hear them whispering but he couldn’t catch what they were saying. One look at Derek’s face told him that he could hear every syllable loud and clear. He saw his jaw tighten. “You know what, Scotty?” he said to his best friend without taking his eyes off of Derek. “I think me and Derek here are gonna go in to see the committee now.” He turned to his friend and said earnestly: “Help get these people to go back to their homes and their work, will you? Get Isaac, Danny, and maybe Lydia to help - even Donovan if you can? Please?”

“Sure man,” said Scott, who had not stopped staring at Derek. “I’ll get my mom too. She’s good with everyone around here.”

“Awesome,” said Stiles, “Thanks man.”

He nodded at Derek and said: “Let’s get out of here.”

“I think that would be best, yes,” said Derek tightly.

Inside the Gathering House it was no better. Actually, it was kind of worse. The place was usually pretty cool in the morning, but by midday when the sun was at its zenith, it was stifling - and that’s how it was that morning. There were more people inside than there were outside and he had once heard that the Gathering House could easily accommodate 45 people at a time. Stiles was looking at at least 75.

“There he is!” said a voice from the side. The whole room erupted in screams and gasps. Instantly the chatter level was so high, Derek found himself covering his ears.

“Get me out of here,” he said.

Stiles ushered him to the front of the room, opposite the door they had come in. They made their way down the overcrowded center aisle and to the stage where the committee table was positioned. John was standing at the top of the steps with Coach. “Glad you could make it,” said John as he ushered them onto the platform. “You see what this has become?”

“It’s like a shuckin’ witch hunt,” muttered Coach, who backed away from Derek instinctively.

“We need to get this crowd under control,” said John. “Before they start throwing things and people get hurt.”

Derek moved past the three of them and stood at the center, looking out over the crowd. Most everyone went silent under his gaze. He took his opportunity. “I bring back one of your own unharmed and unmolested and this is the thanks I get?”

No one spoke. No one moved. Derek continued: “You’re supposed to be civilized - or so I’ve been told. I don’t see that here. I thought I was the one you had called the animal, the wild thing, the monster? I can hear you, you know. All of you. Every whisper.” Face after face turned pale. No one moved. “I have a message from the Hale Alpha - my mother. Stay on your side of the walls. The treaty is inviolate. One more transgression and it will bring on another war. You won’t last for long if your supplies are cut. Think on that.”

You could have heard a pin drop. Stiles saw the anger building inside of the Gladers and intervened with as chipper a tone as he could muster: “Hey everyone! Good to see you. Glad you’re so concerned about my well-being that you dropped by. So! Here we are, huh? And let me tell you, I feel fine. I really do. See?” He turned around slowly, his arms outspread. “Not a mark on me. We’re all good. Okay?”

“Like hell,” muttered a female voice. “He’s still one of them and he could kill us all if he wanted.”

“But he doesn’t want,” said Stiles, “and do you know why, Mrs. Charles? Hmm? Because he believes in the treaty. He wants peace.”

“He doesn’t look very peaceful,” said a small female voice from the other side.

“Yeah,” said a bolder male voice from the back. “He looks like a killer! How many humans have you killed and eaten anyway, wolf?”

“Hey! That’s not fair,” interjected Coach. “How many people have we had to kill to get where we are? To save ourselves?”

“That’s different,” said another voice.

“How?” asked Coach, clearly confused.

“We have self control. We can make reasonable decisions. He’s a monster. He always will be.”

Various shouts went up at that and John moved between the two boys to try and calm everyone down. As he spoke, Stiles pulled Derek back into a whispered conversation. “You okay, Der?”

Derek didn’t look at him. He just turned his back to the crowd and the committee and clenched his fists, his head bowed.

“Derek?” asked Stiles again. Then he told him: “Derek. Look at me. Don’t listen to them, just listen to me. Look at me.”

Derek turned his head up to meet Stiles’ eyes. His own burned with a golden fire Stiles had never seen before. He would have told Derek that it was an amazing color if he wasn’t so freaked out by seeing it. “Okay… that’s not good. Hey… if you wolf out here that would be bad. Like really super ugly awful life-ruining bad. So if you could not do that, that would be wonderful.” He took a few deep breaths as an example to Derek who just continued to stare at him and growl deep in his throat. “Inhale and exhale, Der. Come on, man. Work with me.”

“I can’t-” Derek started.

Stiles thought he saw fangs in his mouth. He grabbed Derek by the wrists and turned them up to look at them; his fists dripped blood from claws that dug deep into his palms. Stiles thought frantically. “Okay, okay… what about the swirly thing - the triskelion? You said it helped you focus, helped you control the Changing. So use that. What was it again? Alpha, Beta, Omega? So… go with it, man. Do it for the treaty. Do it for the peace between us. Do it for all the innocent lives. Your family, my family. Please. Derek… Do it for me!”

“Alpha…Beta…Omega…” Derek chanted, closing his eyes.

“That’s it, Derek, good,” encouraged Stiles. He chanted with him: “Alpha, Beta, Omega…Alpha, Beta, Omega…Alpha, Beta, Omega…” Stiles could see Derek visibly relax, his hands unclenched and his fangs retreated as he spoke the words more and more clearly with more and more calm. “It’s working, Derek. Just concentrate on my voice. On your own voice. You can do this. Alpha, Beta, Omega… great job, Derek. Perfect.”

Soon Derek stood upright and breathed deeply, his face the picture of calm resolve. But he looked at Stiles then with something Stiles couldn’t identify. If he had to hazard a guess, it looked like affection. Stiles blushed at the thought. “Thanks, Stiles. I’m grateful,” said Derek. Or the look in Derek’s eye could have been simple gratitude. Sure. Why not?

“No problem,” said Stiles, abashed. They both turned back to the crowd which had managed to devolve into a heated debate over how to destroy the whole family that lived just past the western wall. Stiles looked to Derek with anticipation for another crisis.

“So you’re cool?” he asked anxiously.

“I’m cool,” said Derek. “I just wish these people of yours would stop trying to kill my family when all we did was the right thing.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles and he looked out at the crowd wishing he were anyplace other than there.

“So what are you going to do, Chief of Security Stilinski?” asked a rather irate middle-aged woman Stiles knew as Ms. Minho.

“I’m going to do whatever will keep the treaty in place,” said John. “And besides, we still need to take a vote. Could I motion for one now, please?”

“Wait,” said Coach, “what are we voting on?”

“Whether this is a breach of treaty and it needs to be renegotiated,” said Rafael McCall.

“Or war declared,” said Mr. Lahey.

“That’s Isaac’s dad,” whispered Stiles to Derek. “He’s the one I warned you about, a real piece of work. Angriest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“That’s comforting,” muttered Derek.

“Sorry,” said Stiles.

Things were staring to get out of hand. People were becoming more and more irate and Stiles could see where this was headed if no reason was spoken. The more voting was discussed, the more nothing would get done. Mr. McCall was shouting: “The laws we’ve set here in the Glade are there for a purpose. To totally disregard them would mean the end of order. And order keeps us alive, keeps us safe.”

“And we all know the old saying: the only good wolf is a dead one,” said Mr. Lahey. Everyone in the hall watched for Derek’s reaction. Stiles gripped his wrist reflexively and Derek didn’t pull away. Stiles made small soothing circles with his thumb along the back of his hand, pausing after every third one to reinforce Derek’s mantra: Alpha, Beta, Omega. Derek looked down at his hand, watching the slow movements with a combination of gratitude and incredulity.

When the crowd called back more insults and encouragement for Mr. Lahey, Stiles could feel his own anger rising. Derek didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it. It was categorically unfair. Then someone threw a small rock at Derek. It didn’t hurt him - it would take more than a stone to leave a mark on him - but he rubbed his shoulder, breaking contact with Stiles and let out a low growl.

Finally Stiles had had it.

“Hey!” he shouted. He stepped in front of his father and Rafael McCall and waived his arms. “HEY!” he shouted again. Some of the crowd fell silent and Coach tried to grab his arm, but he pulled it away, taking his chance to speak while he had it: “Why are we here?!” People looked puzzled. “Well? Why are we here? In the Glade? In the Maze?” Coach was trying to pull him away, telling him he was out of line. John was pulling at Coach, telling him he would discipline his own son, thank you. Stiles looked out at the stunned faces of the Gladers, undeterred.

“Do you remember why we’re living in this place?” he shouted at them. “Do you remember what you told me, told all the children of the Glade? Do you? Because I do.” The hands on him fell away and the room was practically silent.

“You told me - at eight years of age - that we were here because people hated us. Not because of the wolves. Not because of catching the Flare. But because we were immune to the disease that was killing millions upon millions all over the world.

“You said they had a name for us. ‘Munies’ they called us, you said. You said that the world outside - all of the rest of humanity - vilified us because of our natural immunity to the Flare. They didn’t understand us and they were jealous and angry and they wanted us to suffer because they were selfish. Because they were dying and why were we so special? That’s what you told me. Do you remember? Do you remember being hated for something you couldn’t help? Something you didn’t choose?” He stopped and watched his words sink in, each face in the crowd moving from hardened anger to cowed regret.

“So, here we have someone of wolf-kind,” Stiles continued, gesturing toward Derek. “And what do we do? We treat him the way the Flare victims treated us. Well, isn’t that nice? Doesn’t that speak to us as human beings? Kill them all, you shout.

“But it wasn’t always that way. Once, not that long ago, we decided to be humane. We established a treaty. We obeyed the treaty until my dumb ass screwed it all up. And so now what do we do? Do we punish me? No! We go after the wolf - but not just him! Oh no! That’s not good enough for all of you. No, we have to attack his whole pack, because they’ve just been so terrible to us this whole time. Oh wait - no they haven’t!”

He gave them all a hard stare. “What you’re thinking of voting on is stupid and useless. I’ll walk Derek to the gates today. We’ll part company and I’ll come back unharmed.” He glared at Mr. Lahey. “Because the treaty is also one of the laws we’ve established to keep order.”

“And since I’ve done such a great job ruining order around here, when I return to the Glade, I’m putting myself into the Jail. Then you can have your committee meeting to decide how long I should stay there. I leave that up to you. I am guilty of violating the treaty. I will be punished accordingly. If you think that staying in the Jail is too good, that I should be out in the Maze for a few days-”

“Stiles… son-” his father interrupted quietly.

Stiles met his father’s gaze. “No, dad,” said Stiles. “I earned this. This is on me.” He turned back to the Gladers. “If staying in the Maze with the Grievers is something you want for me, I’ll do it, and gladly. Only let me make it right. Let me walk Derek Hale, in safety, back to his pack, his family. Let me fix this. When I get back, you let me know what you’ve decided.”

He didn’t wait for them to come to a decision officially. He could tell from all the faces that his speech had hit every mark it was meant to and that his suggestions had held sway. He nodded at Derek and they left the Gathering House, making their way across the Glade to the western gates. No one barred their way.


	4. Chapter 4

They were walking past the first turn in the maze when Derek finally spoke. “That was… amazing, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged. For the first time in his life he was too preoccupied with his thoughts to speak. Scratch that. The second time. The first time he was too caught up in his thoughts, he wandered from the Maze and started this mess.

They walked along for a bit more and Derek broke the silence again. “I’ve always wondered who built the Maze. How long it took them.” He looked up at the ivy-covered walls. They towered above them hundreds of feet up, each wall several feet thick and covered in gray granite. It was almost impossible to contemplate.

“No idea,” said Stiles. He never looked up. He didn’t need to look; the walls of the Maze had been home for too long.

“So you live here and have no idea who built the damn thing? Or why?”

Stiles turned on Derek, suddenly irrationally angry. “You’ve lived here your whole life! Why don’t you tell me who built the shucki- the fucking thing, huh? You’re older than me! Surely you would have heard something from Grandpa wolf or something!”

Derek stared at Stiles for a long moment before carefully saying: “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stiles, his voice dialed to full sardonic mode, “maybe it’s the prospect of being locked in the Jail for the rest of my natural life? Or maybe it’s the thought of being locked out here in the Maze for days on end until the next of never? Or perhaps it’s because everything’s fucked and it’s all my fault? Maybe I’m terrified that your family will be waiting at the western gate to turn me around and have me march them right back to the Glade so they can have their stupid fucking war and kill everyone I’ve ever known including me? Maybe it’s because I’ve managed - and only in the past twelve hours, mind you - to send my father’s stress levels through the roof?” Stiles remembered his dad’s shock at suggesting Stiles stay in the Maze as a punishment. That look would haunt him forever.

“I’ve never seen him like this before, Derek. He’s scared for me for probably the first time ever. And I’ve done that to him.” He looked off back down the Maze. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for hurting him like this. The whole Glade will label me from here on out: untrustworthy, disloyal, wolf-lover. It’ll kill him. The shame of that will kill him.”

“’Wolf-lover”?’ asked Derek. “Is that really an insult?”

“For us,” said Stiles. He studied his shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Derek took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. “That’s just… fucking horrible.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. He kicked at an outcropping of weeds that jutted up from between the stones and bit his lip.

“Besides, we’re not even lovers,” said Derek.

Stiles jaw dropped and he stood still. “What?”

“I mean… I thought- when you thought we were going to share the same bed that you… Nevermind.”

“What? No. I mean yeah… but… no!” Stiles stammered.

“So you… are… um?”

Stiles shrugged. “I guess. I mean, the thought isn’t completely repulsive. And, you know, girls are good too.”

“Okay,” said Derek. After another pause he offered: “Listen, I’m sure my family won’t kill you. My mom’s the best Alpha. She’ll probably have sent my sister Cora to wait at the gates for me. Mom wouldn’t think I could have made it back in time. I think that’s why she didn’t call for me last night.”

“Call for you?”

“Yeah… um,” Derek blushed, “howl for me? It’s a thing Alphas can do. Call the pack. Call to other Alphas, other wolves.”

“Even as far into the Maze as the Glade?”

“Clean to the other side of Beacon Hills, really,” said Derek with a shrug. He moved past Stiles as he talked, picking up the direction they were headed when they stopped.

Stiles reached out for him, grabbing his arm and shouting: “Careful! That’s-”

An arrow shot out from the side wall, beneath the ivy and struck Derek in the leg. He growled out with pain and fell down.

The words tumbled out of Stiles’ mouth: “God! I’m sorry! I tried to stop you. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. Oh, please don’t kill me. Please don’t let your family kill me. Please! Don’t kill my dad! Don’t kill my friends! Please, Derek! Don’t destroy my home!”

“It’s alright, Stiles,” said Derek. He pulled the arrow from his calf and tossed it to the ground. Blood soaked his jeans and Stiles took off his shirt to staunch the bleeding. He pressed it to Derek’s leg and he howled in pain. “Stiles! It’s fine! Leave it. It’ll heal by tomorrow.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Stiles who was definitely starting to panic. “That’s not going to heal in a day and it’s going to leave a really huge scar and now I’m going to have to help you walk and when your mother sees you she’s gonna rip my throat out-”

Derek clapped a hand over Stiles’ mouth. He continued to speak, his words muffled and earnest. “Stop talking, Stiles! Shut up! SHUT! UP!”

Stiles went motionless, eyes terrified. Derek took a breath and said quietly. “This was my fault. I went ahead of you. I made a mistake. So… here’s what’s going to happen: you are going to help me up. You are going to get us both to the gate in one piece. You will leave me at the gate and you will go home. Everyone lives. Okay, Stiles? Everyone lives.” He gave Stiles a moment to process that news before saying: “I will be fine by tomorrow because werewolves can heal faster than any human. By tomorrow, this wound won’t even exist anymore. Now. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth and you’re going to be calm. Okay?” Stiles nodded, still wide-eyed, but breathing normally. Slowly he peeled his hand from Stiles’ mouth.

“Oh. Okay. Good. That’s good. Okay,” sighed Stiles.

“Now help me up,” said Derek. “Until it heals, it hurts like a bitch.”

 

~080~

 

Derek leaned on Stiles, his arm wrapped around his shoulders and they limped their way to the western gate. Stiles gripped his wrist tightly and had an arm about his back to steady him. And by Stiles’ fifteenth apology, Derek was done.

“Stop saying your sorry. It wasn’t your mistake. Bad enough you’re to blame for violating the treaty. Isn’t one guilt trip enough for you?”

“Sorry,” mumbled Stiles who followed it up quickly with: “Not “sorry for your leg”, sorry. Sorry for “saying sorry for your leg”, sorry…. Sorry.” Derek shot him an annoyed look. “You know what I mean.”

They made the last turn they needed to and the western gate stood open before them, the Trader’s Road losing itself in the distance. “Smells like home,” said Derek.

“Smells like a dream,” said Stiles, something fleeting coming back to him with the scent. “I guess this is the end for you and me.”

“Yeah,” said Derek.

“So, can I ask one more question?”

Derek huffed a laugh. “Sure, Stiles.”

“If you bit me, would I become a wolf too?”

Derek halted their progress one hundred feet from the gate to look Stiles in the eye. “What do you know about the Changing?”

“Only what you’ve told me,” said Stiles. “It’s not like we’re able to study you guys openly, you know.”

Derek seemed tense as he answered. “Since the Flare affected my family, we haven’t bit anyone. We’d heard the rumors too. When my mother met with the other Alphas, she asked about the bite; about whether or not it would actually change another, if it could convert a Munie.”

“And?” asked Stiles.

“Deucalion answered her. He said that the bite would only take with some. And that the first Changing was the worst. We’re affected by the phases of the moon, so our first full moons are always awful. We’ve since learned to control it, but a new Changeling… they have a tough time. I was only fourteen when my first full moon hit. My mother had to chain me up in the basement. I didn’t understand what was going to happen and it was terrifying. I can only imagine that that’s what a Munie would feel too.”

“He said the bite would only take with some Munies?” asked Stiles.

“He said the bite only works if an Alpha does the biting,” said Derek.

“And Alphas have red eyes,” said Stiles. Derek nodded.

“Wolves who are betas can either have gold eyes, or blue eyes if they’ve killed a human,” said Derek. “And when an Alpha does bite a human, it only works on some.”

“What happens to the ones it doesn’t work on?” asked Stiles.

“They die from the Flare.”

“Even if they’re immune to begin with?”

“Yep.”

Stiles and Derek stood together and watched the expression on the other’s face: Stiles was frightened; Derek, sad.

“Derek!” shouted a voice. Cora. “Derek! Are you alright? I smell blood. What did they do to you?!”

“Nothing,” Derek called back. “I did it to myself.” He said to Stiles: “Let’s get going. And don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“You look like shit,” said Cora as Derek and Stiles came within a dozen feet of the end of the Maze. “What the hell happened?”

“Arrow,” said Derek. “Hit me in the leg. I was walking where I shouldn’t. Stiles tried to warn me, but I triggered it.”

Cora growled at Stiles, a flash of gold in her eyes. “What do you have to say for this, rat?”

The words “I’m sorry” were on Stiles’ lips, but he stopped himself and glanced at Derek, wondering if the two words he’d been begging him not to say anymore would be alright to say here.

Derek intervened: “Please don’t make him apologize any more. If I hear him say “I’m sorry” one more time, I’m going to kill myself.”

Cora’s eyes scanned Stiles up and down. “Well, at least he smells contrite.”

“I am,” said Stiles. “I am the contritest of the contrite. Deeply sor- apologetic. Deeply.”

Cora nodded, seemingly satisfied. She turned to Derek. “Did you deliver the message?”

“Yeah,” said Derek. “The Gladers are going to punish him and leave us be.”

“The Gla-? The Gladers are going to punish him?” she asked, incredulous. “And what are they going to do? Send him to bed without supper? He damn near destroyed the balance, Derek.”

“He didn’t destroy anything,” said Derek. “He just got lost in thought and wandered off.” He looked at Stiles. “He’s a good kid, Cora. You should go easy on him.”

“All I’m saying is: if anyone should dole out punishment for this Maze rat, it should be us. We were the ones transgressed upon.”

“That’s Peter talking, not you,” said Derek. “Stop it.”

She ignored him and turned to Stiles who was busy sweating and trying not to die from nerves. “What were you thinking about so deeply that you managed to screw up two whole groups of settlements and about twelve years of peace, you Munie rat?”

“A girl,” said Stiles. He blushed deeply.

Cora laughed loud and long. “Oh damn, Der. So much for your romance with the Munie fantasy. It seems his heart belongs to another.” Stiles’ focus shifted to Derek who was slowly blushing.

“Shut up, Cora,” said Derek and he hopped away from Stiles’ touch. “Let’s just go home.”

“You’ll have to forgive my brother, Stilinski,” she said with a cruel smile. “He’s just a little lonely and it’s been so long since he’s had a gentleman caller to get all excited about.” She laughed again as Derek dragged her off. “Of course,” she shouted back to him, “the last human he fell for turned out to be a Hunter. But she was a lot of fun while it lasted, wasn’t she, Derek?”

As they disappeared into the woods, Stiles stood there shirtless and stupidly waving goodbye to a very embarrassed Derek Hale and his cackling sister Cora.

 

~080~

 

When he got back to the Glade, he was as good as his word and they were waiting for him. His father’s security people locked him into the concrete box and he sat on the stone floor, wrung out from the past twenty-four hour’s adventures. The only light came from a small window in the side and it was temporarily blocked out by a face. Scott. “Dude! What the shucking clunk is going on?”

“You know I broke the treaty,” said Stiles. “I’m gonna stay in here until the committee decides what to do with me.”

“Where’s your shirt?”

Stiles looked down. “Derek Hale has it.”

“Why?”

“Because he thought he looked good in homespun blue…. Because he needed it to help stop the bleeding.”

“What bleeding?”

“Scotty?”

“Yeah?”

“Could we talk about this later? I’m really kind of tired. And more than a little terrified out of my mind.” He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.

“Sure, man,” said Scott. He watched his friend for a few seconds. “You miss him.”

“What?” Stiles had closed his eyes, but he opened one and screwed up his face in confusion.

“You do!” said Scott. “You miss him.”

Stiles thought about it. “I guess.”

“You do,” he said grinning.

“Look, man,” said Stiles. “No offense, but I’ve known you almost my whole life. I’ve known everyone in the Glade practically my whole life long. I haven’t made any new friends in eleven years. He’s the first. And he’s a good guy. I like him. In a way, I’m glad we met. And now I’m never going to see him again because of the stupid treaty.”

“You could still see him,” said Scott.

“What are you talking about?” said Stiles. “Okay, let’s say the committee decides NOT to have me thrown in here for all of eternity or thrown into the Maze for the rest of my life. Where exactly do we meet?”

“At the western gate,” said Scott with a shrug. “You on the Maze side, him on the Beacon Hills Wolf Wood side.”

“And we do what, exactly?”

“Whatever, dude. Whatever you want. Talk. Share food. Exchange presents. Fuck. Whatever.”

“Fuck?” said Stiles. He sat up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Scott didn’t say a word. He just gave Stiles that look that said “I’ve known you for how long?”

Stiles sank back down. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Alright then,” said Scott. “So all you’ve got to worry about is what the committee is deciding on right now. And then after you’ve served your time, you can go meet up with wolfboy and everything will be fine.”

“And if they imprison me for life in here, Scotty?”

Scott paused. “Then you’ve always got me. I mean- not like that, but you know: for company.” He gave Stiles a weak smile.

Stiles sighed and set his head back against the wall. “God, I could use a strong drink. And a shirt. It’s shucking cold in here.”

Scott laughed. “I’ll get one for you. A shirt, not the drink. Be back in a sec.”

“Thanks, buddy,” said Stiles and gave him a weak wave as he disappeared.

No sooner had Scott vanished than a book can flying through the small window. It hit the floor with a slap and was quickly followed by another. Stiles looked at the window in wonder, but no further books arrived and the librarian remained invisible. He slowly picked them up and read their titles: “The Flare Phenomenon” and “Beasts and Monsters: An Encyclopaedia of Ancient Mythology”. He turned them over in his hands; the encyclopedia was ancient, the other book a newer tome but spiral-bound with soft laminate covers. Stiles called out, “Hello!” but no one answered.

He opened the first to a dog-eared page and began to read about were-kind and why some scientists thought the Flare brought about changes in humans to emulate those of mythical monsters. He turned to the other, flipping the cover back to more dog-eared pages about what people used to believe caused lycanthropy and how it could be warded off or cured. His head was spinning with wolfsbane, mistletoe, and mountain ash, fangs, claws, and full moon cycles. He read about the stages of development in a newly-made person of wolf-kind and what their episodes were like under the full moon, whether they needed to see the moon itself or whether it was just a sense of the phase. He cringed at the experiments in pain tolerance and marveled at the tests of strength performed.

He looked at the cover of the spiral-bound book. It read like a science journal. He noted the author’s name: Dr. Conrad Fenris.

A huge part of him was revolted that anyone had it in him to perform such experiments, but Stiles read the part where all his patients were looking for a cure; they were all volunteers.

He set the books down and sighed. His best guess was that Dr. Deaton must have given him these books as a warning. But Derek wasn’t a bad person. He certainly wasn’t the monster that the encyclopedia book made him seem. Scott was right: he missed him. And while he was still getting used to the whole “being a werewolf” thing, he was excited to have made a new friend after so long a time. It made him defensive of him. Too bad Derek went home injured. He wondered what things were like at the Hale house right now. And he wondered how Derek was doing.

 

~080~

 

“I still say we wipe them out and take the Maze for ourselves, Talia,” said Peter. “Look what they did to your son!” They sat in Derek’s room on the edge of his bed, his uncle on one side, his mother on the other. Derek sat up in the dead center, his leg bandaged properly and supported by pillows.

“Mom, I told you: it wasn’t the Gladers. It wasn’t Stiles. It was all me. I did a stupid thing and I paid for it. It’ll heal by tomorrow.”

“It could have got you in the head, Derek,” said Peter. “Not even a wolf can heal from that.”

“But it wasn’t my head; it was my leg and I’ll be fine by the morning. I can already put weight on it.”

“Both of you, stop it,” said Talia at last. “We are not starting anything violent over this. Derek is telling the truth; it was his fault. I’m alright with that even though it pains me to see any of you hurt or injured.” She stared long and hard at Derek. He had the decency to look sheepish. “But we have the treaty to think of and-”

“Oh here we go again: the treaty, the treaty,” griped Peter. “When will you ever see reason that this treaty is stupid and has absolutely no advantage for us?”

“Peter,” said Talia with more patience than Derek could ever have had with his uncle, “we are still decent people. We don’t bite Munies and we don’t attack them. They have nothing we want. You say the treaty brings us nothing. I say: the treaty brings us peace and safety from Hunters. If we begin attacking the Munies in any way, the Hunters will catch wind and we will be vulnerable.”

“But if we bite every Glader there is and most of them turn… then we have an army AND a Maze. Imagine the power of that pack, Talia!” said Peter, his eyes aglow with blue fire.

“I like things as they are, Peter-” she said, holding up a hand to cut him off as he tried to interject, “and if you talk about attacking the Gladers again, I will rip out your throat myself.” She looked between her son and her brother. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, mom,” said Derek.

She glared at Peter for several seconds before the Beta backed down. “Yeah, alright. But I still think it’s stupid of you to hang on to this peace.”

“I know you do,” she said, “but that’s only because, while you are an excellent warrior, you haven’t a sympathetic bone in your body.” She waited until he slunk from the room before checking her son was comfortable and heading off to make dinner.

Derek watched her go and sighed. Stiles’ bloody shirt was balled up on his bedside table. He took it in his hands and scented it. He wondered how Stiles was taking his punishment. For some reason, he missed the spaz.

 

~080~

 

He awoke in the middle of the night with a start. Something in that dream bothered him. He was chasing something… or someone. Hazily he thought: Stiles. He was following Stiles. The boy had been sleepwalking again.

He rolled over onto his back and sucked in a sharp breath as his leg stung, reminding him that it was still healing. He needed to sleep but couldn’t. He hated when insomnia hit him like this. He thought of going downstairs for some warm milk, or counting sheep, all the mundane things that might put him under again but he knew they would be useless.

Stiles’ blood-soaked shirt sat on his bedside table in a crumpled ball. He reached for it and scented it again. Past the tang of blood he smelled a trace of freshly cut grass and the sweet musk of the boy. He closed his eyes and saw Stiles’ face again: long brown lashes over deep amber-colored eyes, wild hair that fell in spikes about his earnest face and turned-up nose. He saw his long neck and all those freckles and moles and he wondered what his alabaster skin would look like exposed.

The heat coiled in his belly, his arousal unmistakable. He moved his sweatpants slowly down over his hardness until it sprung free.

“Stiles,” he whispered, “what the hell are you doing to me?”

He teased a fingertip along the underside of his cock with a slow, gentle stroke. Gooseflesh spread along his arms and he felt his abdominals flutter. He circled the tip, urging the precum to his slit, watching the slow reddening cherry of his swelling cock with lazy fascination.

He pictured Stiles’ mouth around it.

Moaning low in his throat he licked his lips. This time he used all his fingertips to trace up the underside and along the big vein. He could feel his pulse in it and it quickened at the thought of Stiles’ eyes looking up through his lashes at him as he licked up his cock with the wide flat of his tongue.

“Fuck, Stiles,” breathed Derek, “this is so good.”

He flicked at the frenulum with a fingertip. Pleasure flooded his system, swelling at his core and moving out toward his limbs. He felt elated, loose and eager. He scented the shirt again and lost himself in the smell of Stiles. The urge too great to resist, he finally took himself in hand at the root and slowly stroked upward.

It was a trick to jerk off in a house full of werewolves. He had learned from a very young age that everyone could hear, but if he did it in the dead of night and were quiet about it, he could get some kind of privacy. It was either that, or wait until his whole family had gone into the township of Rockford for supplies, leaving him behind to scratch that particular itch. Derek smiled to himself; he knew his house was fast asleep and he settled into his mattress and pillows as his hand fell to a steady slow stroke that he knew would awaken a smoldering heat from deep within himself and take him to climax.

It didn’t hurt that he had the smell of Stiles to assist in his arousal. He didn’t think about why he was so focused on the boy, but he knew that it helped him be able to imagine him there, sitting above him, riding his cock, a lost look in his eyes as Derek fucked him from underneath.

He felt his skin flush and he increased his rhythm, urging his orgasm on. His breath came deeper and deeper and as he passed a thumb over his slit, slicking his shaft up with the precum. He arched his back and set his feet on the mattress. He barely felt the pain in his leg anymore as his hips bucked up into his hand.

Stiles was all around him now: the smell of him, the sight of him, even the sounds of slapping flesh and the Glader’s moans were in his ears. Derek held his eyes closed as he built himself toward the point of no return and then - he let go.

The stark loss of the warmth of his own hand almost made him gasp and cry out loud. It was all he could do to stifle the noise he did make. He came down slowly, the falling crest of his pleasure like the gentle backslide of a wave. He let it go until he almost came back to himself, sober and grounded. Then, slowly again, he built himself up, pulse pounding, rhythm building, until all he could see, hear, and smell was Stiles Stilinski.

This time, he let himself have him.

Cum shot in thick ropes along his abdomen and hand as he continued to stroke himself more and more lazily as the haze of his post-orgasm drunkenness overtook him.

He wiped himself with Stiles’ shirt and shoved it under his pillow. He’d wash it in the morning. Just then, all he’d wanted to do was fall into a deep sleep about a boy lost in a Maze and needing him.


	5. Chapter 5

“Stiles Stilinski, it is the finding of this committee that in the face of the violation of the wolf treaty which you have admitted full guilt and responsibility, you should be banished to the Maze for three days and three nights. You are to be supplied with food and water enough for those days and only a staff for defense. There will be no help, aid, or contact with any Glader during that time. Should you survive among the Grievers, you will be welcomed back here with open arms, your punishment served and your crime forgiven. If you should attempt to leave the Maze during the daylight hours either by re-entering the Glade or exiting one of the four main gates, you will be banished from the Glade and Maze entirely, no food or provisions given, and may the wolves have mercy on your soul.” Rafael McCall read out the punishment with a voice solid in its convictions.

Stiles looked over the crowd in the Gathering House and to his dad. John Stilinski looked like a shell of himself, crumpled and worn, he didn’t meet Stiles’ gaze until he felt his boy staring at him. When he lifted his eyes, Stiles saw such profound sadness, his own eyes clouded with tears. He swallowed past a lump in his throat and gave his father a weak smile. He wanted to show him that he wasn’t afraid, that he had raised a strong man, that he hadn’t screwed up as a father. He willed his dad to read his mind, but John’s expression held nothing but anguish. It was the face of a man who had fought hard for his baby boy and lost; a man who would now have to stand idly by while he watched his only flesh and blood be closed up inside a Maze to be maimed or killed.

They stood in front of the eastern gates just before sunset, the whole of the Glade turning out for Stiles’ expulsion into the Maze. Rafael came over to where the Stilinskis stood. “The rules are here for a reason,” Rafael McCall reminded them. “Now say your goodbyes. Remember: no contact with anyone for three days. Any violations and we punish more than one person here.”

John took a deep breath once Rafael had walked away. “Stiles,” he said, “remember what I taught you about the Maze. Watch for the changes tonight. Keep track of the cycles and for god’s sake, don’t try to fight a Griever. You’ve never seen one, you’ve only seen the pictures and diagrams. They are bigger and faster than you think. Please. Don’t fight them - just run.”

Stiles nodded and said: “I love you, dad. And I’m so sorry.”

John gripped his son tightly in his arms. “You’re a good boy, Stiles. I’m proud of you. I always have been and I always will be. You’re my son. My sweet _Szczepan_. Your mother will watch over you. Come home to me, son.”

Stiles buried his face in his father’s neck and did something he hadn’t done in ages: he wept.

He could feel his father’s hand moving over the back of his head, petting him soothingly. He was hushing him and telling him it was going to be alright. The more his father soothed him, the more he didn’t want to go into the Maze.

He didn’t want to see a Griever. He didn’t want to die in the Maze. He wanted to grow up and marry Lydia Martin and have babies and teach them the Maze. He wanted a life and hope. He wanted to see Derek and Scott smiling over the same joke at the bonfire parties. He wanted wolves and Gladers to live together in peace, protecting each other.

He wanted his mother back.

He raised his head off his father’s shoulder and took one last long look at him. “I love you so much, _ojciec_. Let’s make sure mom watches over us both, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” smiled his father.

“And make sure you eat right,” said Stiles as he backed away from his father. “No fried anything, okay? Don’t let Melissa give you too many desserts either. And walk the Glade three times a day, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll take care of myself, Stiles,” said John. His boy got further and further away from him, stepping backward into the maw of the eastern gate. “Please, son,” he whispered. “Please be alive in three days. Please. You’re all I’ve got.”

The gates ground and boomed. Stiles stood just inside their borders, a back pack over his back and a pointed staff in his hands. John thought he looked so small, so tiny against the walls of the Maze. He stared after his son as the gate slowly closed, willing him the strength he would need to survive against the things that go bump in the night, wanting him to be safe. Stiles raised his hand up in a goodbye just as the gate sealed.

John remained there staring at the crack in the wall where his baby disappeared until well after dark; until Melissa McCall took him gently by the hand and led him home, a broken man.


	6. Chapter 6

He had been thinking about strategies for survival all day. He had come up with a few ideas but none of them would come to him as the gigantic doors slammed home. The last glimpse of the Glade had been his father’s face, worried - no - terrified for his son. Stiles took a breath and turned around slowly. He knew that once the gates closed, the Grievers were released. He was all alertness and nerves. He strained his hearing and jumped at every shuffle of the breeze against the ancient ivy. He jogged along the corridors, not wanting to be a cornered target for the monsters that went _chuk-chuk-chuk_ in the night. He had heard their screams as the walls changed, but always from the safety of the Glade. They were scary when he was eight, but at eighteen, they didn’t even phase him. It was as though he’d heard them his whole life. He had become accustomed to their presence beyond the granite walls. But he was among them now, in their territory, and he was turned inside-out with fear.

The sun hadn’t quite sunk below the horizon and it dusted the gray with pink that shrunk into a gloomy blue. He knew the path to the northern gate like he knew the dappled moonlit shadows on his bedroom wall. He ran. Following his feet, he strained to think about a good hiding place. He needed to lay low while the Grievers milled about. If they caught sight of him, heard his movements, he was as good as dead. The staff in his hand would be a poor weapon against creatures that he was told were ten feet high and fifteen feet long. Their bodies were like the potato bugs he would flick off the leaves in the gardens of the Glade: fat and ribbed, pale and shiny. Coach had described them in vivid detail that no doubt had taken on embellishments as the years went by.

He moved along in the Maze smoothly, not hearing anything but his feet along the stone floor, his heartbeat in his head. And then, a _chuk-chuk-chuk_ sound reached his ears and his hair stood on end. He stopped, listening.

_Clank-clank… clank-ca-clank-clank._

The sound was different inside the walls. Stiles looked behind him slowly. The edge of one gigantic metallic leg landed around the corner, followed by another and then the head of the beast. _Teeth._ Coach never mentioned the teeth. A roar went up and the creature moved faster than Stiles would have given it credit for. He turned tail and ran.

He careened around the Maze, moving from section to section, weaving in and out, trying to remember the patterns and pathways that lead to dead ends so that he wouldn’t come up short. He could hear the monster on his heels and he tore past opening and turning one after the next, willing the thing to give up the chase. But it would never do that. It was meant to chase him, born to it, if such a creature could be said to have had a natural birth.

Stiles could feel the burning in his lungs and legs. He concentrated instead on the pounding of his feet against the stone, the traps that he flew by and tried not to trigger, the shift of his back pack against his back, the weight of the spear in his hands. He turned again and again, running the creature in circles, running himself down. He needed to lose it. He was going to lose stamina soon if he didn’t find a way.

Up was his only option. He didn’t know if Grievers could climb, but the ivy was tall and ran the complete height of the walls in places. He bolted full-tilt toward a thick growth of it and climbed. His staff fell from his hands, but there was no way to go back for it. The thing turned the last corner and saw him. He grappled and crawled as fast as his four limbs would carry him.

The creature leapt up and two rows of saliva-coated teeth missed him by inches. It landed hard on the rock, cracking it where the metal portions of its body landed. Stiles kept climbing. He ignored its cry of frustration. He ignored the sickening shake of the ivy as it pursued him up the side of the wall. He tried not to think about how close that gigantic maw was to his feet, to his legs, to his back, to his heart. He climbed with everything he had and attained the top of a ledge a third of the way up the wall.

He risked a look back before tearing along the top of that ledge to another lower ledge. That one glance told him everything: he was going to die tonight. The creature had slowed, but hadn’t stopped. And it was more than capable of scaling the walls of the Maze as it was in chasing him down in the corridors. Stiles ran to the edge of that ledge, searching for a way down or over or up. Somewhere, anywhere, away from the drooling killing machine that was pursuing him.

To his left and just below him, on the opposite side of the corridor, was another ledge, one he thought he could jump to. He had no time to think. He pressed his back against the wall, affording himself as much room as he could get, and took a running leap over the chasm below.

His last thoughts were of his father’s face as the wall came closer to him. But his judgment was off. He was going to miss it.

 _I’m so sorry, dad_ , he thought, as the far ledge fell up and away before him.

He strained, fingers reaching, nails ready to claw at any purchase they could find but all they got was empty air.


	7. Chapter 7

He fell gracefully, almost in slow-motion. The far wall moved past his vision, the edge of the ledge he had been reaching for missed by mere inches. And then his extended hands caught an ivy vine. Thick and strong and embedded into the walls of the Maze possibly since its first sprouting, Stiles was never so happy to have slammed painfully into the side of the granite, back pack pulling at his shoulders. He looked back for the Griever who, by some miracle hadn’t spotted him. His motion was arrested almost completely and Stiles prayed the vine would hold his weight until the Griever could pass by, giving up on its meal for the night.

No doubt the creature could still sense him there, knew he had to be there, but in the shadow of a fallen sun, in the darkness that wrapped him slowly up like a babe in a blanket, he became invisible. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare shift his hold on the vine. He couldn’t afford to make a single sound. Even his breathing sounded like a cacophony to his ears. He made his breath shallow until the thundering of his heartbeat was all that existed - that and the clicking, snuffling, _chuk-chuk_ sound of the Griever above and behind him.

He didn’t want to look around at it. It could track his movement. He just held on tightly and shut his eyes. There was a great sound from behind him, the roar of the beast. It was frustrated; it couldn’t find him. He held still for a few more moments, willing his limbs not to tremble as he dangled almost a hundred feet over the floor of the Maze.

He tried not to think about falling to his death. He tried not to think about the creature that wanted him for its supper, its teeth, its sound. He didn’t want to consider what the damn thing smelled like. In an attempt to steady his breathing, he tried to think about Lydia - her hair in the sunshine - but his mind shifted his thoughts to two pale golden eyes, dark features, red lips. Derek. He could see him in his mind’s eye, trying to help calm him: “Alpha, Beta, Omega,” he said. And Stiles could hear it: _Alpha, Beta, Omega… Alpha, Beta, Omega… Alpha, Beta, Omega…_

The Griever was gone. Stiles didn’t know what happened, but he didn’t hear it anymore. He held his stillness for a few more minutes, not willing to even turn his head for fear that the Griever was simply waiting him out, waiting for him to make a mistake. His arms began to shake with their effort. He risked a moment of loosening his grip for a tighter one and he felt the vine creak under his weight. The stillness behind him held. The creature was not there. Stiles prayed his instincts were right and he looked back very slowly, so slowly as to almost be imperceptible.

There was nothing but empty ledge and moonlight.

He looked downward thinking the creature might have tried to seek him out from below. There was no sign. He took a breath and looked up at the stars. “Thanks, mom,” he whispered and then he began to climb.

Surprisingly, the vine held his weight very well and he was able to gain within feet of the ledge’s edge, clambering over it with what remained of his strength. He collapsed against it and rested, praying that this would be a good place to spend the night.

His back pack was behind him and he shifted it off as quietly as he could, the cry of a distant Griever hiding what sound he did make. He was hungry. Sitting back against the wall of the ledge, he opened the back pack his father had prepared for him. The first thing he found was his teddy bear.

He held it in his hands for the longest time, staring at its button eyes and soft face. The stitched smile had come undone at one corner and his thumb swept over the edge of the tiny loose thread. A tear dripped down his nose. He didn’t even know he was crying. Crushing the bear to him, he wept as quietly as he could, bringing his knees to his chest and making himself as small as possible.

He wanted company more than anything. He wanted Scott, his dad, Derek, anyone to be here with him, but he didn’t want them as scared as he was. He didn’t want them fearing for their lives as he was. He pulled away and looked at his stuffed companion.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” he said. His stomach growled and he dug in his back pack past the two books Deaton had given him for an apple and a sandwich, ham and cheese. He opened his canteen, taking a few deep gulps of water but only after he had finished the food. He had to make the water last at least. There would be no fresh supplies every day.

He had just stuffed the canteen back into the back pack when he heard the deep churning of machinery. Was the Griever back? He grabbed his bear and shoved it in the sack, securing it in, and strapped the whole thing behind him. The machinery sound grew louder and he heard the whine of metal on metal, the grind of stone on stone like when the gates close. This wasn’t a Griever approaching. It was the Maze.

The walls had begun to move.

 

~080~

 

The ledge he was sitting on was getting smaller. There was nowhere to climb. The wall at his back went up another hundred feet easily and there was no trace of ivy along its surface for him to climb or cling to. The vine below him that had previously held him was only going to be a good option if he wanted to cling to it for several hours on end. Stiles watched in terror as his place of safety disappeared beneath his feet.

The other wall he had jumped from was moving too, but away from him. Far below there was a shift in the flooring. To his left, along the path of the Maze, the floor seemed to be coming upward, rising toward him in one smooth movement of loud grinding and screeching. He knew that if he didn’t act quickly, he would either fall to his death or be squeezed between the wall at his back and the rising panel of new wall that was steadily coming toward him.

In the glow of the moonlight, he could see deep cracks along the stone surface that could provide a handhold or a foothold if he got a chance, but already the wall behind him was pressing against the back of his heels and he felt himself being slowly pushed toward oblivion, the floor beneath him still rising at a steady angle, not enough for him to jump safely, but not nearly as lethal as falling almost one hundred feet down. He waited for as long as he could and then he jumped.

The fall was longer than he thought and he slid along the wall surface as it rose, the angle getting steeper and steeper with every second that passed. He scrambled for purchase and found some in a grassy outcropping that gave way as soon as he had clamped down on it. He slid down again, his stomach lurching to his throat as he fought for his life.

He felt his blunt fingernails crack and split as he scraped at anything that would stop his downward motion. Here a weed would offer some arrest, but it would give way to be replaced with another small grassy offshoot, which would pluck free in his hands. Down and down and down he slid until finally there was nothing more to grasp and he hit the floor with a thud.

Silence reigned as he took stock of what had happened. He was dizzy, his vision blurred. He stared up at the stars through the walls of the Maze. He thought he was dreaming. He brought his hands to his face; they hurt. They were also filthy and there was something wet on the tips of three of them: blood. He sat up slowly, flexing his fingers, making sure his hands weren’t broken and looked back up at the wall that had formed in the last moments before he had hit the ground. It was as tall as the rest of the wall and formed a practically seamless border with the rest of the new corridor he now found himself in.

He sat with his hands in his lap trying to gather his thoughts and sort them out. What did he need to do first? Find shelter. Okay, how was he to do that? Remember the layout of the Maze. It had shifted from one pattern to the next pattern and he was somewhere in the middle of it. He had to orient himself. He knew where he had left off, but where was that in the map of the new pattern? Did he know? Was he lost?

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of another Griever. He had to get up. Getting up was step one. Getting up now would be good. Really good. _Get up, Stiles. Get up!_

He rose to his feet slowly, his brain working a mile a minute faster than his aching body. He hurt everywhere but it felt good to move, even though all his limbs could afford him at first was a slow mechanical walk. He couldn’t afford to go far if he was to figure out where he was. He looked at the stars and wished he had paid more attention in astronomy class; knowing his north from his south would have been helpful. He hobbled along, his hands throbbing, his legs killing him, and leaned against another thick outcropping of ivy.

He needed sleep. Sleep would help him figure out where he was. There didn’t seem to be any Grievers along the pathways where he was for now, but he knew that would change. He pulled on the ivy. It held. He looked underneath it at where it grew in and found a ledge under the wall big enough to accommodate him if he lay flat. He stuck his back pack in first and shuffled the rest of himself between the thick vines, nestling himself behind the broad leaves. If he were still, he might be able to sleep here. He hoped it would be enough to save him from Griever attack. He hoped he wouldn’t sleepwalk that night.

He hoped he would get to live to see the dawn.

 

~080~

 

His dreams that night were riddled with moving walls, Grievers, and angry werewolves. He kept waking up, the wall inches from his face as he lay flat against the floor. If he looked off to his right, he could see through the thick ivy to the moonlit portion of the maze floor. He watched and waited for more Grievers to come by and when they didn’t, his body collapsed into rest. Later, a roar from a distant monster woke him with a start and he banged his head on the low ceiling. He rubbed his forehead and tried his best to calm himself because the snuffling sound that followed the cry that woke him was getting closer. He had to be as still as death for the creature to pass by.

He wondered what signaled the Grievers to go back to wherever it was they came from. He thought it might be daylight that drove them back, but it was tough to be certain. Derek had asked who had built the Maze. Stiles wondered the same things off and on in the past eleven years; who were the builders of the Maze and why had they bothered building the Grievers too? He had theorized that the Maze might have been a prison at one point, a failed experiment in jailing those that had caught the Flare. Why else would the Glade exist? Why else would Grievers exist? But if it was a prison, then why build openings in the exterior walls? The prisoners could have been transported in by bergs through the air, supplies dropped from the sky as they were needed. The possibilities made his head spin. Stiles gave up on his theories years ago; there was no way to find out for sure.

 _Chuk-chuk-chuk…_ The Griever came closer to where he lay behind the ivy wall. " _Alpha, Beta, Omega,"_  ran through his head and he regulated his breathing. It would go. It would pass. It wouldn’t even know he was there.

The legs of the beast stamped against the rock floor two feet from his head and it was all Stiles could do not to cry out. He had know that they were sensitive to movement, that was easy enough to figure. But he had no idea how sensitive they were to sound. He wondered if they could hear his heartbeat because it sounded like a battle drum to him.

The metal leg lifted and departed, oscillating with its other legs as the Griever shifted right by his hiding place. When Stiles was sure he couldn’t hear it anymore, he let out a careful sigh of relief.

He was thirsty, but he pushed the feeling away. He was strong enough to wait until morning for that, when he was sure that the Grievers wouldn’t attack him. He would also spend the day figuring out where he was in the Maze. This was the third cycle and he had known where he was in the second cycle, so…. _Think._

He closed his eyes and when he opened them, dawn had bloomed over the Maze floor, the pink daylight peeking through the vines to kiss his face gently with light. The first night was over.

Stiles extricated himself from the hiding place and pulled his back pack out after him. He drank again from the canteen, savoring the taste of the water in the two gulps he allowed himself. He ate another apple for breakfast and slung his back pack over his shoulders, intending to spend the day exploring the Maze so he could orient himself.

As soon as he turned the next corner, he knew exactly where he was. Two hundred yards distant and as straight as the crow flies was the external gate to the north. He could have kicked himself for not knowing. But between the twilight chase with the Griever and the shift in the Maze… Stiles shook his head and laughed, feeling lighter than he’d had in an age.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around the Maze: northern sections, eastern sections, southern sections, and the western. He didn’t approach the threshold of the gate itself, but he got himself close enough to it to smell the pine and earth that were just beyond its borders. He sat there and had his lunch: another sandwich and a few more swigs of water.

As he dined, there was a rustling in the shrubs just off the road and far down from the gate itself. He watched, holding his breath, willing it to be Derek Hale stepping out from the cool shade of the trees. A small brown deer gingerly stepped out, its tiny hooves making a tip-tap sound as it moved along the open road and toward where Stiles sat. He smiled at the sight and cocked his head inquisitively. The animal saw the movement and froze, turning its head to see him better, flicking an ear out to catch his sound, sniffing the air to detect his intentions. Stiles remembered what Derek had said about scent. He thought peaceful things and happy things, altering his scent as best he could for the sake of the frightened animal. After a few moments it seemed satisfied and moved to the edge of the road to nibble at the grasses that grew in a small patch of sunshine.

It never saw the beast coming for it. Stiles barely saw it himself and he watched it all happen. It was huge and hulking, more monster than animal and flashing blue eyes of balefire. It was there, and then both it and the deer were gone. Stiles leapt to his feet automatically. A wild howl went up followed by a rending sound that Stiles knew had to be the deer’s flesh being ripped from its bones. It was then Stiles realized what he had seen - who he had seen...

_Peter._


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles tore back down the corridor to the first turning he could find. He peeked back around the corner and damn near clunked in his pants. Through the copse of trees in the distance, a hulking black mass emerged and sniffed the air. It turned its head toward the gate opening. Stiles pulled his head back and held his breath. This was worse than a Griever. This was a full werewolf, fresh off the kill, and its attention pulled in his direction. Would Peter have reason enough to not wander into the Maze entrance or would the wolf side of him take total control and come after him?

Stiles chanced another peek. It had moved closer, sniffing the air. Their eyes locked and the animal let out a low growl. Stiles couldn’t look away. Peter’s eyes glowed blue in the same way Derek’s glowed gold, but his shape was entirely different. Derek had described him as “bigger, more vicious”. Stiles would have added monstrous, predatory, and all claws and jaws, but that was more picking nits really.

Peter’s approach was almost dead silent along the soft earth. He crept in slowly on hind legs. His muzzle caught the light through the dappled trees and Stiles could see it was still wet with blood from the deer. His claws were covered in it and the hair on his chest too. It was a crisp afternoon; his breath left clouds in the air and the warm blood still steamed in places on his paws. Stiles swallowed hard and resisted the urge to run; it would only make him a target and there was no way he was going to outrun Peter as a wolf even with the fifty-five yard head start he had. He had to come up with a plan if Peter decided to break the treaty.

A howl went up from the hills. It echoed back and forth along the corridors of the Maze. It was a wonder he had never heard it before in the Glade, it was so powerful. He dared another look back and realized that it hadn’t come from Peter. In fact, Peter had turned his head away from Stiles and back toward the source of the alarm. It had to be Talia. Stiles couldn’t resist: “Go home, Peter,” he called. “Talia is Alpha. You wouldn’t want to make her angry, no matter how big and bad you look.”

Peter whipped his head back around to snarl at the human.

“Go home,” Stiles repeated. “You can’t do anything to me here. Go on.”

The werewolf fell to all fours and walked toward the boy again, his head low, ears back, teeth exposed. He was raring for a fight and Stiles knew that anything between them would automatically make Stiles a very messy corpse.

“The treaty! Remember the treaty!” he shouted.

Stiles mentioning the very thing that had caused them to meet in the first place didn’t seem to help curb Peter’s intentions. He was twenty feet from the threshold of the gate now and Stiles could see the saliva dripping from his jaws, foaming as he gnashed his teeth and growled. Even in this posture, he could tell that Peter’s haunches were at least four feet high. He was huge for a wolf and if Derek seemed intimidated…

If the thing you’re scared of is scared of something else, run.

Stiles came out from his hiding place, knowing full well if he took the turn he was hiding in, he would have come to a dead end no matter which route he chose after that. He had to go back down the corridor and pass four more openings on the right in order to achieve any kind of passage to other more complex routes in the Maze. Not every route led to a dead end, some converged and doubled back onto themselves and unless you knew them as well as a Glader, it was hopeless to find your way out. If he had to run anywhere, he would run where even a werewolf could be disoriented. As he stepped into the corridor he kept his eyes on Peter, walking backward step by step, and watching with gaining horror that Peter had no intention of leaving him alone and running home to his sister.

“KILL YOU!” the monster managed through snapping teeth and thick tongue.

“You can’t! The treaty! Why do you think they trapped me out here in the Maze? It’s my punishment. Three days and nights. Short of death, it’s the worst punishment we have.”

“NOT GOOD-,” said Peter.

“I agree! I agree not good. Not good for me at all!”

“NOT GOOD… ENOUGH” managed Peter. His eyes flickered crisp blue, the color seeming to swim and shimmer with his rising bloodlust.

“Uh-um…” stuttered Stiles nervously. He slowly kept stepping back away from the gate opening, his mind racing a mile a minute. “Thanks for the input, but my people have made their decision. If and when I survive this ordeal, I’ll be more than happy to mount a suggestion box on the side of the Maze wall. You can drop us a note, okay?”

Peter had no appreciation for his terror-induced humor. He brought his head even lower, elongating his body; he was preparing for a chase - preparing for the kill. If that deer had noticed him at all, this would have been the last thing it would have seen before pain-filled oblivion.

Suddenly, a blur came from the north and Peter was gone with a crunch and a whimper. A roar went up and leaves, dirt, and small branches were cast into the gate opening, but Stiles couldn’t see anything. All he heard were two animals battling. And judging from the howl that one let out, he was certain they were both werewolves.

 

~080~

 

Talia and Peter. It had to be them. Stiles didn’t wait to see who won, he just gathered his things, turned tail, and ran like the scared rabbit he was. He tore around the proper turning and careened around three more, making his way back toward the Glade when a thought struck him: if Peter won and came after him, he could track his scent. He stopped and back-tracked immediately, following the twists and turns almost to the point where he would come back to the corridor that led to the gate. He looked up and around. There were a few high ledges like the ones he used last night and he tried to climb the odd ivy branch or two, but they were too thinly grown in this section.

He headed to the southern gate; the ivy was thickest there and he would have much more cover. He didn’t want to lead Peter directly there, however. He meandered in and out of dead-ends, switch backs, and made a few circles around in the same sections to throw any potential follower off. Once he got to the southern gate he felt much safer. He stared at the open road before him. It was little used and the ruts in the old road were almost hidden in overgrowth. It would be so easy to set foot out there.

But he didn’t want to. He had absolutely no desire to leave the Maze. He sat against the wall and thought about that.

Why would he never want to leave the Maze? The rest of what was left of the world was out there. Paris, Rome - cities he’d only read about in what few schoolbooks they had managed to obtain on the trading days or that the Preacher had in his collection - they were all out there for the exploring, abandoned and maybe half destroyed, but there. Why wouldn’t he want to go and see them for himself? Shuck it, he had barely remembered Sacramento and that city seemed huge, teeming with life despite the ravages of the Flare on the population. He had only seen mountains from a distance. He had never seen the ocean. He knew it was there because the maps said it was, but he had never smelled salt air or heard a wave crash.

He looked out at the opening again and imagined the sea beyond the hundreds of miles of forest and desert and whatever else was out there. He wondered if he would like it or be afraid. He couldn’t imagine sea water in his mouth. He knew what salt tasted like, what water tasted like… but someone had said that the sea was different somehow; you couldn’t approximate it in a glass. They said - was it the Preacher? They said you had to taste it for yourself to know. He remembered they told him about tide pools and the wash of one wave bringing new life to the little puddles in the rocks along the shore only to be taken away by the next tide. “Flotsam and jetsam,” he had said, his voice as distant as the ocean he spoke of, “rolling with the waves, going wherever they took you, like a leaf on the wind.”

The breeze caught just then and the ivy shook, a few green leaves pulling free from their mooring and skittering away over the stones past him and along the corridor. He watched their travel and wondered why he couldn’t stand the thought of being just as free. All he’d ever wanted to do when he first got to the Maze was explore it and at night he would wonder about the world outside, thinking that he would venture out in it again someday. He remembered asking his dad: “How long do we have to live here?”

His father had told him that this was their home now and to eat his supper. He complied at the time, but the question still burned inside of him. With all his talk of being a security officer like his dad, learning the Maze because he liked it, all it was was a smokescreen to his real feelings: he was waiting.

Waiting for what? Waiting for something to happen? For his life to suddenly be elsewhere? He knew it had to happen someday eventually. He would find a place to go and go there. And then that would be home. Why else did he run the Maze in his dreams, not in the corridors, but along the tops of the walls looking out, searching for something he could never put his finger on? And another sign: he had never met anyone else in that dream until the other night. Derek’s was the first face he’d ever seen. And it was the first time he’d ever left the dream wall and found himself in any place other than the Glade.

His light eyes were what he thought of first. Light eyes of sunlit leaves framed by long dark lashes. His dark hair thick and no doubt soft. Stiles remembered his strong arms and back, how he carried himself as though he had to hold up the world at a moment’s notice. The rare smile he was allowed to see at breakfast. Was he waiting for someone like Derek this whole time? Was Derek the open door, the path, or was he the destination? Stiles hoped he was all three… three… _Alpha…Beta…Omega…_

There he was again, standing over him as he lay on the floor of the Maze, the blue sky above him and the wind playing with his hair. Stiles saw the flick of a smile and then he was gone. He heard footsteps and followed them, turning corner after corner, always just behind him, but never close enough to touch him. He turned another corner and was pushed into a thick patch of ivy by strong arms. A warm mouth found his and he hummed pleasantly…

A booming grind startled him. It was sunset and the southern gate was closing. He had fallen asleep. He scrambled to his feet and searched the ivy for a high place. He couldn’t climb all the way to the top of the large walls, they were too far up. But he could look for a ledge that was part of the way like last time. He ran through the maze, listening for Grievers and searching the walls in the fading light. Up ahead he saw what he was looking for and he climbed as fast as he could, the ivy thick and strong beneath him. He would have the advantage tonight. Tonight he would be prepared.

 

~080~

 

The sun set over the west and Stiles rested on the ledge that faced it. He couldn’t make out the horizon itself as he wasn’t high enough, but he could see the sky and the traces of red left from the sunset that lay on the clouds like a lover’s kiss. Already the stars had begun to come out and he edged further back into the ivy behind him along the ledge, knowing that the Grievers would come first and the movement of the walls would come second. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep, so he ate and drank and waited.

At first all he heard were the echoes of nightbirds and the rustle of ivy but soon the first _chuk-chuk_ of the Grievers stabbed the twilight.

He wondered how his father was doing. He wondered about Derek. He wondered about Scott and the rest of the Gladers. He stowed away his things and looked again at the bear his parents had given him. He didn’t remember naming it when he was a kid and he thought he might try now, just to pass the time.

“Claudia,” he whispered. It was his mother’s name. It seemed sappy and sentimental but it was a teddy bear: a sappy name was the only logical choice. A bear’s name should bring comfort and he needed some comfort in this place. He hated that feeling of not wanting to leave; it seemed counter-intuitive. But it was safe here in the Maze, despite the Grievers and the wolves. In the Maze, he knew how life worked. The rules were simple and easy to obey and if you transgressed them, the punishments were as easy to understand.

He knew the word for what he was and said it to himself in mild disgust: “Institutionalized.”

It was the same with people in prison. They became used to the life, the routine, the rules. So much so that some of them, freed on parole or because of finished sentences, committed other crimes just so they could go back to prison and be around the structure they had become so used to.

Stiles didn’t want to be institutionalized. He wanted to think of himself as a proud member of the Glade. They weren’t prisoners, after all. But they were, weren’t they? The Twenty-five proved that point. They tried to get out, escape. And they paid the ultimate price. And the one who returned - who was he? Stiles had never met him even though the event of the Twenty-five had happened since he and his dad had come to the Maze. He wondered if he died. He put the bear away in his back pack determined to ask his father for the truth about what happened to the man. He needed to know because he never wanted to become him; he never wanted to become the type of man to sell out his friends just because they wanted to find a home elsewhere. He didn’t want to become institutionalized enough to close off anyone else’s freedom.

A Griever was approaching but Stiles wasn’t concerned. They would walk the corridors in vain looking for him and they would never find him as long as he stayed quiet and hidden. It’s not as if they made a habit of climbing the walls or walking along the ledges and very tops. Why would they do that?

But then: why wouldn’t they?

Stiles shook his head to make himself more alert. He couldn’t afford to become too relaxed and his full stomach was no help. He listened for the sounds down below him. He was another hundred feet up and surrounded by strong ivy, so he would have a means of moving if he had to, but he didn’t want to have to. He wanted to keep his place for as long as he could and his mind raced to piece together the next cycle to determine whether or not the ledge he chose would be one that wouldn’t move or disappear entirely. He thought he could judge by the thickness and maturity of the vines that this particular ledge wouldn’t be closed off, but the more his mind went back to the patterns of the south section, the more he doubted his judgment.

 _CHUK-CHUK…_ It came from above him and across the way. Stiles looked up at a Griever, clinging to the wall and dripping slimy saliva from its jaws. It hadn’t spotted him crouching there in the shadows of the ivy and he watched it with terror-filled eyes as it made its way to an overhanging part on the other side like a grotesque gigantic grubworm spider.

A grinding booming began. The walls were shifting.

The portion that held him didn’t go away; it did just the opposite. He lost his seat and fell backward as the ledge became larger and the wall behind him was swinging outward and to the right, the hinge of the fold at his right and behind him where the ledge ended. It wasn’t so bad. Until Stiles realized that the wall that held the Griever was also coming toward him, the other side of the corridor folding inward to create a dead end on the path below.

He couldn’t afford to move, but it was too late. The creature had already spotted him and let out a roar as it waited to close in on its prey.

Stiles turned in the opposite direction and began to climb frantically.

 

~080~

 

The ivy held, thankfully, and he made a lot of headway before the walls came together with a thunderous slam. The vibration shook the ivy he held and he slipped a little. Looking behind him was the biggest mistake of his life. The Griever came forward at a breakneck pace, determined to devour him. He cried out and shifted himself as far up and away from the monster as he could. There was another ledge far above him and he climbed for it, the echoes of the still-shifting Maze crowding out the pursuit of the Griever behind him.

A crack sounded to his left and ahead of him - just where the new ledge was. The wall he was climbing was folding away from him, creating another path. The ledge he was climbing toward was swinging away, its edge providing a hinge point just as the other ledge did. “No, no, no, no no no!” he moaned as his next stopping place drifted away from him. The Griever was still pursuing him, but tangled up in a mass of ivy that came loose with its weight.

Stiles climbed for the edge of the new wall as fast as he could as the Griever screamed behind him. His heartbeat was back in his ears. His hands tore at the ivy and scraped against the stone behind. He made the turning at last and put his foot out to balance on the ledge. It was half its size than before, but it was still there and solid underneath his foot. Instinctively he ran its length, pressing himself to the wall at its end. There was no other ivy close to him. If he were to reach any more to climb down and run away, he would have to leap to the wall opposite - a jump of more than twenty feet. There was no way he could do it even with a running start.

He shrunk down and made himself small, scooting back into the corner as far as he could manage and listened for the Griever’s approach. There was a loose rock at his back and he grabbed it and using it as a weapon, but quickly figured that it would only serve to make the Griever angry. But it also might serve as a distraction.

Just as he saw the first pincer come into view, he threw the rock down the hundred feet to the bottom and waited for the sound to attract the monster. The crack of it landing against the stone flooring below was enough to make it turn its head once it made the corner and Stiles prayed that his gambit had worked, that the creature would go after the sound instead of spot him on the ledge just ten feet away. He held his breath.

The Griever stepped down toward the sound but something Stiles did must have given him away because the hideous beast snapped to focus its attention toward him and let out an horrendous screech. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut in terror and waited for the end. He could feel the Griever’s slow approach through the vibrations of the stone and he began to cry.

Someone grabbed his arm and his stress-addled brain thought it was his mother. “Stiles,” said a voice. “Be ready to grab on!”

His right shoulder shot through with pain as he felt himself being grabbed and flung across the chasm to the opposite wall where the ivy grew thick and green. He opened his eyes in time to see the wall coming at him at a tremendous pace and reached out to arrest his own movement. He scrambled for a moment, the ivy giving way under his weight and momentum, until he found himself clinging to it helplessly. He looked back and the Griever was facing some other opponent, but the shadowed figure was too small to see from this far below. Stiles knew who it was anyway.

“Derek! It has-” _It has what? Tools? Pincers? Blades? Needles?_ It had all those things… what was the word he needed? “Oh! It has weapons! WEAPONS, Derek!”

He heard the Griever shriek and something flew past him and downward in the darkness. It clanged against the stones: something metal. It was followed by another shriek and another something metal flying past him in the gloom. Then there was the roaring growl of a werewolf and Stiles saw a dark shadow leap over the chasm and cling to the ivy just above him. Derek came into view, eyes aglow, fangs flashing white, ears pointed, face furry with hair that hadn’t been there before. And his hands were rough and gnarled with dangerous claws covered in a black ichor he knew had come from the Griever.

“Are you alright?” they asked each other simultaneously.

“Fine,” they answered each other. Further discussion was cut off by the wail of the wounded Griever above them.

Derek looked at Stiles. “Get on my back,” he said, his tone inviting no arguments. Stiles shifted over and wrapped his legs around Derek, his arms about his shoulders and neck. “Brace yourself,” he said - and then he let go.


	9. Chapter 9

The fall was stuttered as Derek released and fell, only to cling again and fall again. He gave Stiles just enough time to re-adjust his grip between jolts before he landed on his feet and hands on the ground, Stiles riding his back like a cowboy. Derek looked behind him at the boy.

“You can get off me now,” he said gruffly. Stiles paused only for a split second, his brain finally putting his body into motion. “Now come on, “ urged Derek, absently wiping his filthy hands on the ivy. “That thing is injured but not dead. Do you know the way out of here?”

Stiles looked up at the wall where the Griever still clung and was slowly descending, a puddling pile of thick black blood pooling far down below and landing just opposite where they stood, staining the wall and what little ivy clung to it. Stiles looked behind him and saw the metal pieces that had been ripped off the beast with the claws of a werewolf. Long blades and the jutting teeth of a round saw blade glimmered in the moonlight.

“Hey!” Derek gripped his shoulder with a power that made him wince. “Where do we go?”

Stiles snapped out of it and ran away, heading east along the corridor, Derek right on his heels. He managed to weave in and out of the corridors until he remembered the pattern that would lead back to the Glade. The doors were closed of course and he saw them out of the corner of his eye as he ran past, leading Derek with more confidence now that he had gotten his bearings. He dodged a few more booby traps, pointing them out to Derek so he wouldn’t get shot again and made it to another thick overgrowth of ivy with another ledge up high. This one was only a few meters from the ground, but it was one that Stiles had seen before and to his knowledge, this section of the Maze had never shifted no matter the cycle. The fact that the ivy had completely covered it and practically disguised it from view over the years proved his point.

He ran to it, leaped as high as he could, latched onto it, and climbed for the small compartment that would hide them from any pursuit. The wounded Griever was no where to be heard or seen once the two were panting behind the wall of ivy and staring back the way they had come.

Finally it had occurred to Stiles to ask a few pointed questions: “What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you get this far into the Maze without tripping one of the traps or attracting a Griever?”

“Slow down, Stiles,” said Derek. “I will tell you, just breathe, okay?”

Stiles leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, willing his heartbeat to slow. Eventually it did and Derek spoke in hushed tones. It was a pleasant sound in the moonlight coupled with the wind and the ivy, despite what Derek had to tell him.

“I saw Peter coming toward the Maze gate and I heard you shout at him. I knew he would try to do something stupid so I was following him anyway, but I never thought he would come after you. We fought. I don’t know if you saw.”

“I thought that was your mom coming after him,” said Stiles. “I heard a wolf’s cry. It was loud too.”

Derek nodded in the gloom. “Mom was upset that he took off. They had another fight about you and your people. My uncle’s pretty opinionated and kind of a manipulator. Mom took him down a few pegs, but I followed when he went off to hunt, stayed upwind of him… so… anyway, we fought. The first few blows took the anger out of him. He tried to tell me that because you weren’t locked up and wandering the Maze that you had escaped punishment; that you had gotten away with breaking the treaty and your people didn’t do anything to reinforce it. He tried to make me think that your people hadn’t valued the importance of the treaty.”

“No! That’s not what happened at all!” he said. “I even told him that I was sent into the Maze!”

Derek held a hand up to stop him. “I know you did. I heard you. So… after we fought and he tried to lie to me, I took off into the Maze following your scent, thinking that I needed to keep closer tabs on you if Peter ever saw fit to come after you later in the day.”

“And Peter didn’t follow you?” asked Stiles.

“Not that I saw or scented. He was too busy running to tell my mom that I went into the Maze alone,” he said, continuing. “I saw you backtrack but you didn’t see me. I thought that was smart of you.” Here Derek blushed a deep crimson. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you all day. I saw you walk to that open gate. You didn’t walk out of it. You had the chance to and you didn’t. You just sat and fell asleep. When the other gates closed and you finally woke up, I followed you again to see what you would do, where you would go. I knew then that your people truly had shut you up into the Maze as punishment and that you were being obedient to their wishes.”

Stiles didn’t say anything to that. Derek pulled at his shirtsleeve to get him to make eye contact.

“That shows character, Stiles. You’re a good person.”

Stiles gave him the flicker of a sad smile and mumbled: “Thanks.”

“So… that… thing. That was a Griever?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, “they guard the Maze at night, but they attack without asking for credentials. They don’t know a Glader from an invader so we make sure we’re inside the walls before sunset.”

“And the walls move at night,” said Derek. “Thanks for not telling me. I only almost lost track of you when they began to move.”

Stiles only felt a slight stab of guilt at Derek finding out that little tidbit. He nodded and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “You cold?” asked Derek.

“A little,” said Stiles. “The ivy offers some protection from the wind, but I think it’s the way we’re facing-”

A line of deep warmth hit the side of his hip and thigh. His shoulders above his back pack were warm too. Derek had draped himself over Stiles and for the first time since being tossed into the Maze, he felt something resembling comfort. He looked at Derek’s face, just inches from his own, and said: “Y-you don’t have t-”

“Shut up, Stiles,” said Derek, his face unreadable.

“Dude, do you…?” but he never finished the question. Derek’s look made the sentence trail off and Stiles decided that instead of wondering if this werewolf had actual feelings for him like his sister Cora insinuated, instead of questioning a good deed done, he should just take what he was given as kindness and move the hell on.

His body was warm though and that was nice. After all he and Derek had been through that day it felt good to have this small act of kindness made toward him. Stiles just wondered about why he was being granted it, why Derek was being so protective. By all rights, he could have just let Peter kill him. Hell, he could have joined him in the fight. Yet here he was, not only saving his life by protecting him from Peter’s wrath, but saving him from a Griever and offering him his body heat without comment.

They sat there for many minutes as Stiles’ head spun with questions until Stiles realized that his questions were probably leaking out into the open air where Derek could scent them. He tried to quickly shut his brain off, to think of other things, but when he did, all he could manage was how heavy the weight of Derek’s arm was across his shoulders, how good Derek smelled, how terrible he must smell by comparison, how that must annoy the crap out of Derek’s sensitive nose, how he wished he could turn his scent off to save him a olfactory assault that must be unbearable, how-

“Stop it, Stiles,” said Derek. “Just try and sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Another thought occurred to Stiles: “Your mom is gonna be pissed with you for breaking the treaty because of me.”

“My mother will understand when I explain it to her,” said Derek.

“But what will you tell her?” Stiles watched his profile in the moonlight, slightly captivated by how long Derek’s eyelashes were.

“Same thing I told you,” said Derek, “I’ll tell her that I feared that Peter would chase you down and kill you, destroying the treaty and any future possible treaties and destroying all the peace she worked so hard at establishing.”

“Gotcha,” was all Stiles managed as he slowly realized that he hadn’t really been listening to Derek at all.

“So we’re good, right?” asked Derek. Stiles was going to smile at him and agree, until a horrifying thought crossed his mind.

“So glad you came into the Maze tonight but, holy shit, you really can’t be here.”

“It’s okay, Stiles,” said Derek with a shrug. “My mom will understand. I told you.”

“I’m more worried about what the Gladers will do once they found out you helped me,” said Stiles.

His worried look gave Derek pause. He pulled away from him a bit to look at him squarely. “Are you kidding me? They’ll be upset that I saved your life?”

“Derek,” said Stiles, unfolding his legs and letting his feet dangle over the ledge’s edge, “they expected bad things to happen to me. That’s why I’m here. That’s why it’s a punishment. Derek,” said Stiles, wincing a little, “if they find out you helped me, they could have me cast out from the Maze. Forever. And I’m pretty sure that me getting sent away from my home forever would kill my dad,” said Stiles. He hated to interrupt the quiet comfort of having him there, but Derek needed to realize the consequences for his actions.

“But that’s all provided that the Gladers even find out I was here,” said Derek.

“They’ll know,” said Stiles glumly.

“How?” said Derek. “Do the Grievers file reports every night? Do they have cameras set up out here? Do they have spies in the ivy?”

“I don’t know, Der,” said Stiles. “They just will. That’s all I know.”

“That’s stupid. And besides, if you do get cast out, you can always live with us.”

Stiles looked at Derek, his emotions mixed. On the one hand, being with Derek would be terrifyingly amazing. On the other hand, he’d be living with the one kind of human that the entire human race looked down upon and feared. And he’d be the only Munie in a house of werewolves in the middle of a vast wood with no one to go to for help should he need it except Derek and they were Derek’s family, his pack, how could he make him choose? And then he’d still be apart from his dad and Scott. He’d never be able to see them again without breaking the treaty - or bending it past the point of his dad’s comfort.

“Stiles?” asked Derek. “You are not your usual talkative self here and I’m going to be honest: as nice as it is to see you shut up, it is also very worrying. Please talk to me.”

“I can’t come live with you, Derek,” said Stiles. “I won’t.”

“Why not? Where will you go if they kick you out?”

Stiles shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to hope that they don’t find out about you helping- Wait! That’s it!” He laughed louder than he wanted to and clapped a hand over his mouth. It wouldn’t do to bring on another Griever attack so soon after his eureka moment.

“What is it?”

“It’s true that I can’t have help,” said Stiles. “But nothing in the rules of my punishment said that I can’t have help from you.”

“What?”

“Gladers can’t help me,” explained Stiles. “Werewolves are not in the bylaws.”

Derek’s grin could have lit up the Glade. “So it’s okay then?”

“Yeah, well… it’s still cheating but…,” said Stiles. They watched the happiness play over each other’s faces. “Even if they do find out you helped me tonight, there’s shuck- er, fuck all they can do about it.”

Stiles started laughing first, a low chuckle that was instantly infectious because soon Derek joined him and they both tried their best to keep their noise to a minimum. The cover they were under was perfect and Stiles lay down, the ivy curtain at his back, and used his back pack as a pillow, the softness of the teddy bear cradling his head. Derek moved next to him slowly, laying on his back with his arms crossed and not touching him, but close enough that Stiles could feel the line of heat he provided coming off his body. Derek lifted his head and grabbed one of Stiles’ hands up to see it better. His eyes held the golden glow of the wolf as he inspected the boy’s hand. “You’re hurt,” he said softly.

“Oh it’s no big-” started Stiles, but Derek closed his eyes and the pain began to fade, “-deal.” He watched Derek concentrating, felt the throbbing in his fingertips subside the more he was held. “Derek,” Stiles whispered reverently.

“Another thing we werewolves can do,” said Derek, “take pain away.” Stiles could do nothing but stare at Derek in awe. He was tempted to tell him that Dr. Valick had not included that in his studies, but Stiles wasn’t too sure how happy Derek would be about the books he had in his back pack. Instead he decided to let Derek hold his hand, feeling the pain lessen and lessen the longer he held it, the warmth of Derek spreading from his palm to his fingertips. It was so damn comforting.

“Thanks,” he managed before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

The walls of the Maze were beautiful in the morning light and he and Derek walked along the corridors hand in hand, Stiles slowly teaching him the patterns that he had memorized since he was a child. Derek rewarded him with kisses against this ivy patch and the next, making his knees buckle and causing him to press his own kisses to Derek against this wall and the next in turn. Derek laughed and let him overpower him and peck kisses against his neck and rub his nose pink in his stubble. Derek nuzzled too and huffed hot breath against his skin; Stiles would pull away then, not letting him have the satisfaction of taking him against the wall. Derek would let out an animal whine that delighted Stiles.

They had the whole day. The next day Stiles could return to the Glade and with Derek there to help him, his eyes lit with happiness as he kissed him yet again, he knew he would make it back. His dad would give him the biggest hug, Mrs. McCall would give him the biggest piece of cake and he and Scott could play a little one-on-one lacrosse and have some fermented honey by the bonfire with Derek. Because Derek would stay. He would totally stay. And the treaty… the treaty…

“Stiles,” said Derek. “Stiles, wake up.”

 

~080~

 

“Ok,” said Derek, “the first time you sleepwalked I have to admit, I was pretty freaked out. You were walking the Glade in your bare feet, running some of the time. But this time? You have definitely lost your mind. Wake up, Stiles!”

Derek was shaking him by the shoulders and the bonfire disappeared. Only Derek’s panicked face in the moonlight existed. He cried out and Derek covered his mouth in panic, which made Stiles freak out more. He flailed until he remembered where he was: in the Maze with Derek and it was still nighttime. “What happened? Where are we?” he asked, breaking away from Derek and spinning around to get his bearings.

“Not far from the ledge, thanks to me,” said Derek. “You slipped off of it and climbed down in the middle of the night. I thought you had to pee. But then I couldn’t hear you anymore. I looked out and saw you walking back and forth out here. I followed you and you tried to lead us away, but I’ve been corralling you for the last hour.” He wiped his brow. “Jesus, Stiles… what the hell were you dreaming about?”

“Walking the Maze,” he said. It was all he could admit to. He didn’t want to tell Derek of the smatterings of dream memory that he retained: the kissing, the hand-holding, the giggling. He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Come on,” said Derek, pointing upward. “Time to go back to bed. And this time, I’m sleeping on the outside of the ledge.”

_CHUK-CHUK-CHUK…_

“Son of a-” sighed Stiles, more exasperated than frightened, “these fucking things.”

“Let’s go before the damn thing finds us,” said Derek.

They clambered back into their hiding place, the ivy still doing an excellent job of concealing them, and they waited. It didn’t take long before the Griever appeared, this one limping along, its life’s blood seeping from two gaping wounds in its side. It wailed and lurched forward. Neither Stiles nor Derek uttered a word. They just waited for the beast to have its look around. But it wasn’t a short wait. Due to its injury, the hulking monster frequently seemed to rest, leaning against the walls heavily and breathing hard. It stepped forward again only to lean again, dancing drunken along the floor of the Maze.

Stiles wanted to say so many things as he watched the spectacle. He wanted to tell Derek how amazed he was at being able to injure such a monster. He wanted to make fun of its sorry gait. He wanted to laugh at the cleverness of their hiding place as the Griever passed right by them with nary a pause. He wanted to whoop and holler when it had finally disappeared not only from sight, but from sound as well.

But what he did say surprised even him: “I feel kind of sorry for it.”

“Really?” asked Derek. “The killer cyborg worm with all the lovely appendages of destruction attached to it and you feel sorry for it?”

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah,” said Stiles, “kind of. I mean, it only has one purpose, right? To protect the Maze. And here that thing is, clearly gasping its last and it’s still doing what it’s programmed to do. It’s really sad.” He reached into his back pack for his water bottle and pulled the bear out first.

“I’ll let you bake a cake for it tomorrow night, okay?” said Derek. “What’s that?”

Stiles looked at it for a moment before handing it over to Derek. “It’s my bear from when I was a kid. My dad packed some things for me before I left.” He drank his water.

“And you still have this?” asked Derek, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“It was in my room when you slept there. You didn’t see it? And yeah, I still have it.” He yanked it out of Derek’s grip and shoved the water bottle at him. He fondly caressed the bear’s features and added: “It’s the last gift my mom gave me before… she went away.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” began Stiles, “have you ever heard of the Palaces?”

“No,” said Derek. “What are they?” He took a swig from the canteen, never taking his eyes off of Stiles.

“There’s one outside of most of the major cities,” said Stiles. “Usually they just used some old prison, but some were built especially. Munies are hired to work them, but there’s really no care. It’s like a last resting place for people who are sick with the Flare. It’s the place they go to die.” His voice was very small.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” said Derek.

“Before my mom… before she left, she gave me this to remember her by. It kind of still smells like roses, but maybe it’s my imagination. We had a rose garden in the back of the house and my mom’s favorite was always roses.”

Derek sniffed at it gently. “It’s faint, but there.”

“Really?” asked Stiles, his eyes glistening with tears unshed.

“Really.” Derek’s eyes softened and flicked down to Stiles’ mouth for a fraction of a second. Stiles felt his breath hold, his heart skip a beat. Derek gave him a small smile and said: “Let’s get some sleep. Okay?”

Stiles nodded, tucking his canteen and the bear into his bag. “The bear is small but we can share it if you want a pillow.”

“Thanks for the offer, Stiles, but I’m fine.” said Derek, pushing at him gently to lie down. “Sleep now. Okay?”

Stiles nestled into the warmth of Derek at his side and settled into unconsciousness. This time there was no sleepwalking for Stiles, just blissful, calm sleep. However, Derek didn’t drift off right away. He was too alert, too aware of Stiles beside him.

 

~080~

 

When they slept the first time he had been exhausted, the battle with the Griever requiring recovery. But now, with that behind him, all he had to do was close his eyes and let go but he couldn’t. Stiles was too close, too present, too touchable.

His hand was still entwined with his and he turned his head to look down his arm to where they met. It was only the second time he had let his touch linger on the boy; he wasn’t sure he wanted it to end. He flexed his fingers and felt Stiles squeeze back reflexively. His eyes shot to Stiles’ face, checking to see if he had woken. The boy lay in deep repose, his breath and heartbeat calm and regular; his face was peaceful, beautiful, dappled in the moonlight that shone through the ivy.

Derek closed his eyes tightly, pushing the want away. He couldn’t bear the thought of welcoming someone else into his heart, trusting them. Not again. But he wanted to trust Stiles. His instincts told him he could. But his instincts had led him astray before and to horrible ends .

He looked at the Glader again. Stiles’ mouth twitched a little; he was smiling in his sleep and Derek wondered what he had to smile about. He was imprisoned by his own people in a granite maze that had killer creatures wandering in it ready to kill him and devour him. Why was he so happy?

Stiles turned in his sleep and flopped an arm over Derek’s chest, his nose nuzzling into his shoulder. The scent of him became instantly stronger and Derek sighed helplessly. He prayed for sleep. He hated fighting himself over this.

The longer they lay like that, the more Derek’s willpower faded away until he buried his nose into Stiles’ hair. Stiles mumbled something about “so warm” and hummed gently.

“Me too, Stiles,” whispered Derek.

A peace came over him and he fell into a deep sleep until the dawn peeked above the walls of the Maze and signaled the time when both their lives would take a turn for the depressing.


	10. Chapter 10

They awoke stiff and cold, despite Derek’s body heat working for both of them. Slowly they extracted themselves from the ledge and stretched their limbs. The dawn was chilly and they could see their breath. “Let’s get moving,” said Derek, “it’ll help us warm up.”

They walked and stretched their legs, the black ichor from the damaged Griever leaving a trail of its wounded path for them to follow. Stiles would be surprised if it survived until tomorrow night. He still felt sad for it. And he felt embarrassed at his sleepwalking again. He hadn’t sleepwalked in ages and then Derek comes along and boom! Twice in just three days? It was stupid. And then that dream - oh god that dream! It was sappy and romantic and everything he had ever wanted, but GOD! It was embarrassing! He glanced at Derek as they walked along, the werewolf seemingly unaware of his internal conflict.

“What is it, Stiles?” said Derek. He hadn’t even looked at him.

“What?” asked Stiles, not wanting to admit he had such sweet and sloppy feelings for him.

“You’re doing that thing again,” he said.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you’re worried about something and you don’t want to tell me,” said Derek.

“And you know that becau- because you can smell it on me,” the realization of the scent of his anxiety giving him away hitting him mid-sentence. “Of course you can.”

Derek smiled at him, an indulgent grin that betrayed gloating in the twinkle of his eye. “You keep forgetting the werewolf side of me.”

“I don’t,” said Stiles. As a matter of fact, considering how feral Derek looked as a human, it was hard to ignore that there wasn’t something other-worldly about him - if not downright supernatural.

“So why don’t you quit wasting time and tell me what’s wrong with you?

“Last night…”

“…was scary and intense.”

Stiles stopped in his tracks to look at Derek. “You could have been killed,” he told him.

“True,” said Derek, “but you definitely would have been killed if I hadn’t showed up.”

“Don’t remind me.”

They walked along in silence for a bit, with the small exception of Stiles warning about the different traps along the way. After a while, Derek could spot them too and pointed them out to Stiles as they passed them up. Stiles grinned. Derek was a fast learner.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about doing as we’ve been walking?” asked Derek.

“What?”

“Heading into the Glade and getting you fresh supplies,” said Derek. He gave a side glance to see Stiles’ horrified face before he continued. “Well, it’s you that said that I don’t count as part of the rules. And since I’m protecting you from Peter while I’m here as well as the Grievers, I think I should be able to get you more food, water, clothing, all that. Makes sense to me.”

Stiles stared at him for a few paces before stopping him with a hand across his chest. “Don’t you dare, Derek.”

Derek grinned widely, displaying a set of beautiful white teeth. “Kidding.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles sarcastically, “real funny, pal. That’d get me kicked out of the Maze for sure. Hell, they’d probably escort me to the edge of the river where the Twenty-five bit it and hope the wolves there destroy me.”

“The Twenty-five… Those were the people who ran from your Maze’s protection after the wars, right?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, renewing his pace along the corridors. “They all died except for the one guy who came back. I suppose we should call them the Twenty-four, but it’s too late now.”

“I remember that,” said Derek.

“You do?”

Derek blushed a bit and was silent for a long moment before saying: “Yeah. It was a terrible thing that happened. I’m sorry you lost so many people that day, Stiles. It was a mistake.”

“Killing twenty-four people was a mistake?”

Derek went silent.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask more questions when he heard it. They were still in the southern section of the Maze, but it echoed through the corridors strongly enough for his own human ears to hear. Talia must have been standing right at the opening of the western gates when she howled.

“Damn,” grimaced Derek. He looked at Stiles. “We’d better pick up the pace.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, a trace of disgust in his voice, “Mommy calls.”

 

~080~

 

She was tapping her foot at the western gate when they came jogging up. “What in the world caused you to want to go in there after dark? Are you trying to give the Gladers cause to call Hunters?” she asked.

“No, mom,” said Derek. He looked very contrite.

Stiles watched the exchange from the threshold of the Maze. He didn’t dare put a foot over the edge, but couldn’t help adding his voice. “He was only trying to protect me from your brother-”

“You!” she jabbed a finger in his direction. “You stay the hell away from my family. Now and forever.” She glared back at her son, who visibly cowered. “Get home. And stop toying with this boy. I can smell him all over you.”

Derek gave Stiles a small glance that spoke volumes: regret, sorrow. He turned and ran into the wood in the direction of the Hale house, all obedience to his Alpha.

She looked at Stiles again, her head cocked to the side. “I’m not sure if letting my son deliver my message was such a good idea. You seem to have… affected him somehow. I don’t think continuing this… whatever it is… is healthy for either of you. We are wolf-kind. You are Munie. You stick to your side of the Maze, we’ll stick to ours, understood?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” said Stiles with a nervous smile. “I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Talia. And she walked off into the wood as if she had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there.

Stiles watched her go and wondered if she could smell the anger and confusion coming off of him. Probably.

After a few minutes staring after the Alpha and thinking of all the defiant things he’d love to do, his stomach growled and he hitched up his back pack and turned back into the Maze. He’d take his breakfast elsewhere and try to shake the memory of Derek Hale. Not like he had a choice.

“You two do make a lovely couple,” said a voice from behind him.

He turned to see Peter Hale leaning up against the side of the entrance.

“Does your sister know you’re here?” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

He kicked at a stone. It went tumbling past Stiles’ feet and down the corridor of the Maze. “I heard you mention me just now. Just wanted to know what you planned on telling my dear, sweet sister.” His voice was a purr.

“I was going to tell her that you threatened me,” said Stiles. “Going to tell her that Derek saved me and the treaty between our people. I know you want us dead or changed. I know you want the Maze for yourself. I haven’t told anyone in the Glade about that.” He added ominously. “Not yet.”

Peter’s laugh was a light thing carried on the breeze. “Are you actually threatening me, you Munie rat?”

“That all depends on whether or not you’re threatening me,” said Stiles. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, if you swear to never act on your words.”

“So you’ll take a pinky swear?” said Peter holding out his little finger. “That’s it?”

“Where I come from, a man’s only as good as his word,” said Stiles angrily.

“And where I come from, actions speak louder than words,” said Peter. He pushed off the edge of the gateway and paced in front of the entrance. Even in human form, Peter looked like a predator.

“What does that mean?” asked Stiles.

Peter smiled beguilingly and walked away into the wood. As he melted into the trees he called behind him: “It means that if you think that you’re my way into the Maze, you have another think coming. I’ll be seeing you, Stiles Stilinski.”

“What the hell do you mean?!” he screamed after him.

Again, Stiles stood in the corridors of the Maze and stared after another Hale. Bile rose in his throat and he spat. Shaking with anger, he turned and walked along the Maze, his feet leading him back to the Glade, his mind spinning on the the facts that he wouldn’t see Derek again and that Peter was obviously up to something. And the more he contemplated it, the more his hatred for Peter Hale grew until it sat in his stomach like a stone.

As he approached the entrance, he stopped himself, not wanting to violate the rules of his punishment, his toes just inches from the dirt and grass. A cry went up to his right and far out into the Glade near the Bloodhouse and stockyard. Stiles spied his father and waved, relief sweeping over his face. His father returned the wave, but didn’t approach. He just stood there and stared at his boy. Stiles could see the tears in his eyes even at that distance. His heart ached for home and it was then that he determined to get his father to contact some Hunters. Peter Hale had to die.


	11. Chapter 11

The Maze had been a safe haven for the Gladers for too many years. They had become so complacent with their lives, it was a shame how long he got to stand there and wave at his dad before any other security people came over and blocked the entrance to the Glade. Stiles practically had enough time to roast a chicken.

His stomach growled and he held a hand to it as if it would give him away. He was starving from the night before and as he stared at the Gladers going about their lives, he became even more determined to follow his new plan to the letter: he would sleep safely somewhere until nightfall where he could be awake all night in the Maze to better defend himself. He wondered vaguely whether or not he could find the staff spear he was given when he entered the Maze and dropped on the first night. After two cycles of changes in the halls and corridors of stone that surrounded him, he doubted it highly.

“Stay away from the Glade,” warned Jordan Parrish, stirring Stiles from his thoughts and making him jump.

“I know,” said Stiles. “I’m not going in. But can I talk to my dad? It’s important.”

“No communication,” said Parrish. “It’s not allowed.” The man’s expression softened slightly. He added: “Although it is good to see you alive.”

A large cart was headed their way pulled by two strong workhorses. It was a Traders Day. Melissa McCall was atop the cart alongside Mr. Lahey who drove her. Melissa’s smile was the opposite of Mr. Lahey’s scowl as they passed him in the corridor. No one spoke to Stiles and he let them pass without a word either.

“Listen, Jordan-” he began after the cart was out of sight around the first bend.

“No,” said Parrish, his resolve returning, “and if you continue to speak with me-”

“You’ll what?” asked Stiles, “banish me into the Maze?” Parrish put his hands on his hips in exasperation and sighed.

“Look,” continued Stiles, “I wouldn’t be breaking the rules if it weren’t important. Just… just tell my dad that he needs to get some Hunters here.”

Parrish snapped to attention at that. “What do you mean, “Hunters”? Hunters for what?”

“Werewolf Hunters,” said Stiles. “My dad should have at least heard of them. Haven’t you?”

“Well… yeah,” said Parrish, but Stiles didn’t believe him.

“You’re a terrible liar, Parrish,” said Stiles.

Parrish sighed again and said: “You’re lucky I like you and your dad, Stiles. Now get back into the Maze.” And he ran off into the Glade.

Stiles sat with his back to the wall at a considerable distance from the western gate so that he wouldn’t be readily spotted by any Glader, but so that his father could come see him if he had questions. No one came. He ate his breakfast, which was turning into a lunch considering the time of day, and resolved that if he finished it before anyone came to ask him anything, that he’d go back into the Maze, perhaps over to the south side of her and try and find someplace to sleep until the night came and his Griever vigil would begin.

He had never eaten so slowly. He wanted so badly to talk to his dad and he knew that his dad wanted to talk to him, but he couldn’t think of how else to reach him.

A slow, creeping thought struck him; one that he found unsavory and yet completely plausible all at the same time: Melissa McCall. She would talk to his dad for him. She would reinforce his message. He could tell her everything he knew or suspected about Peter Hale and she’d handle it. Hell, she might even know a few Hunters from her time as a Trader. The unsavory bit came in the form of Isaac’s dad, Mr. Lahey. He was probably one of the ones calling for Stiles’ head after they left the Gathering House and he knew he wanted Derek and all the rest of his family dead and gone. He didn’t want to play a tune that Mr. Lahey would dance to, but getting Hunters here would be the wisest decision considering Peter Hale’s level of evil.

He finished his sandwich and loitered around for another few minutes under the pretense of getting his back pack in order. The little sliver of Glade that he could see gave him a moving picture postcard of people living quietly and going about their business as usual. He felt his eyes well up. “One more night, Stiles,” he told himself. “Just one more.”

He shouldered his back pack and turned to go when he thought he heard his name from behind him. He turned to see Scott standing nervously in the doorway. A smile bloomed on both their faces as one friend waved to the other. Scott motioned for him to come closer. Stiles hesitated, not wanting Scotty to be punished too, but this was his best friend and he was already taking a risk.

As he jogged up, Scott said: “So good to see you, man! Everyone’s been worried about you: your dad, my mom, even Coach. But then, Coach thinks you’re already dead. Have you seen any Grievers?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “Too many for a lifetime. How’s my dad holding up?”

“He’s alright, just misses you. My mom’s been over your house every night just to talk to him. She said…” Scott paused, a wince taking over his face. “She said… he cried last night. But- he was drinking… so that doesn’t really count, right?”

Stiles was cut to the quick. His eyes threatened to well up. He said: “Tell him I’m okay, will you? Tell him that there’s a strategy to it, but I’ve figured the Maze out and I can survive one more night if he can. Tell him that, alright?”

“I will, bro,” said Scott with a lopsided grin. He looked around at the Glade to see who might be watching them talk. No one approached. “Listen: you take care out there.”

“Yeah, and hey: do me a favor and tell my dad something, will you?”

Scott nodded and listened as Stiles told him about getting some Hunters to the Glade and he also told him about Peter Hale’s plans that he may or may not follow through on and how much getting rid of Peter would solve a ton of problems.

“Whoa,” said Scott, “Jeez, maybe we should all spend a few nights in the Maze if that’s the kind of stuff you get involved with. Way more exciting that the Glade all the time.”

“Don’t even wish it,” said Stiles, “except maybe on Donovan.”

Scott snickered. “Dude, that’s mean.”

Stiles backed up away from the entrance, a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. It felt good to laugh if only for the moment. He was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be laughing for a while to come as he said his goodbyes to Scott and disappeared into the Maze heading toward the western gate.

 

~080~

 

He knew it would be an all-day wait for the trader wagon to come trundling back, but it would be worth it. He just needed to talk to Mrs. McCall and then he knew for sure his dad would pay attention. He still needed to sleep but he didn’t want to miss them, so he did the only thing that made sense: he laid directly in the path they would have to take to get back. He flattened out on the floor not far from the western gate and where a patch of sun had made the stones warm. He stuffed his back pack under his head and sighed deeply.

Looking up between the walls of the Maze was a little trippy. He had seen the Maze from practically every angle, even this one, but he’d never actually laid down and looked up. If he let his perspective slip a bit, the view looked like a blocky ceiling and floor that went on for hundreds of feet with nothing but open air and blue sky beyond.

Not for the first time, Stiles wanted so badly to be a bird. He wanted to hover and fly over and beyond the walls, to see the outer shape of the greater whole, to see the river beyond and to the east, to follow its winding path and glide back through the trees and over the Beacon Hills to the north and west. He wanted to flit among the pinecones and rest in the boughs of an elm before taking wing again to see where the Hale house was nested in the clearing between two hills.

He wished Derek could fly with him: he a sparrow, quick and small; Derek a dark raven, large and powerful. He wanted to perch atop the Maze walls and watch Peter helplessly snap at them from hundreds of feet below. He laughed at the thought. And he saw Derek laugh too and hold his hand, their fingers intertwined. Stiles leaned in for a kiss and was met with the warmth of the late-autumn sun on his mouth. “Derek,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

But then, the Maze began to move. It rumbled beneath him, shaking his dream apart, the sky fell, and it turned closer to sunset that he remembered. “Ho there!” a voice shouted above him. “Get the hell out of the way, you stupid boy!”

Stiles came to himself with Melissa hovered over him. Mr. Lahey joined her a second later. “He’s fine,” he said, peering down at Stiles. “We can’t talk to him, Melissa. Come on. He’s dead to us until tomorrow morning. If he doesn’t die out here first.”

Melissa spun on him so fast, Stiles saw the man physically jump backward. “Don’t you ever talk that way about a child! How dare you! He’s the future of this place and while I admit, his actions were thoughtless, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. Unlike some parents I know.” She glared at him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he said, practically daring her to keep on.

“You know what I mean,” said Melissa. “You may be Isaac’s father but you are in no way a dad to him. More like a prison warden.”

“And my boy doesn’t go into the Maze, now does he?” said Mr. Lahey. “Unlike this one and his friend - your son. If you keep the dog on a short leash, they can’t get away with anything.”

Melissa was practically speechless at that. Practically. “Isaac is not a dog,” she said, her tone menacing. “Is that how you see your only child? Your only family?!”

Stiles watched this whole confrontation from the safety of half-lidded eyes and supine posture on the ground. There was no way he was interrupting Mrs. McCall when she was defending the Glade youth. When it came down to it, if Stiles could have any woman in the Glade as a mom, Melissa McCall would win every time, hands down.

“When he misbehaves-”

“Which is never, by your own admission,” she finished for him. He had no response so she took her opportunity. “When he misbehaves, it’ll mean that boy will have grown up enough to realize what a terrible person you are and then… and then… he’ll probably do one of two things: he’ll either get out - or he’ll kill you. And you know what? I think that the majority of the Glade would let him do the latter. Hell, I know I’d be happy.”

Mr. Lahey was too stunned to speak. She pointed at the driver’s bench of the cart and said simply. “Sit. I am going to check on the health and well-being of this boy because it is my duty as an adult in the Glade. I shall not speak to him unless absolutely necessary. If you have a problem with that, well then… tough.”

She turned to Stiles who couldn’t resist smiling at her once Mr. Lahey’s back was turned. “That was awesome,” he whispered to her. She gave him a wink and made a show of checking his pulse. “I’m fine,” he said in a louder voice.

“There you have it, Melissa,” said Mr. Lahey. “The boy says he’s fine; he’s fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said and added: “And it’s Mrs. McCall or nothing, Lahey. I’m done being nice.” She turned to Stiles and whispered: “He’s been unbearable all day long. We almost didn’t get the soap we needed because he had to haggle. Pain in the ass.” She stood Stiles on his feet and looked him over appraisingly. “He’s got a few bumps and bruises, but he seems alright,” she said aloud. “A few lacerations on his fingertips though.” She frowned at Stiles.

“I can see that, “ said Mr. Lahey impatiently. “Can we go at last?”

“We can,” said Melissa and she hopped up beside him and gave Stiles a loving smile that spoke volumes.

“I know you can’t talk to me,” said Stiles to them both, “but there’s nothing in the rules that say that I can’t talk to you. Right?”

Melissa and Mr. Lahey looked at him curiously and then at each other. Answering with the deepest look of derision he could muster, Mr. Lahey cracked the reins over the horses’ backsides and they moved away from Stiles. Stiles jogged beside the laden cart and told his story to two sets of ears who were more than eager to hear.


	12. Chapter 12

“Stiles was most insistent, John,” said Melissa. He had gone home after a long hard day and expected a little peace and quiet so he could pray for the safety of his child for one last night, but now they were all in his living room and John Stilinski didn’t like it: Melissa, Rafael McCall, Mr. Lahey, Coach, Mrs. Martin, David Whittemore, Dr. Alan Deaton, and Adrian Harris. Even Scott McCall and Lydia Martin were there staring at him from the sidelines, worry in their eyes.

“This is not an official committee meeting, however,” reinforced Melissa’s ex-husband. Rafael seemed unimpressed with the call for Hunters to come to the Glade to kill off one offending werewolf. “Nothing set in stone can happen here.”

“Yes, Raph, we know,” said Melissa. “But the point is, Stiles wouldn’t tell tales that weren’t necessary to protect the Glade. He’s a good kid-” here Mr. Lahey coughed and cleaned his glasses with his shirttail, “-and he wouldn’t make this up.”

“So what are we deciding on then?” asked Coach, confused.

“Nothing,” said Rafael.

“Rafael’s right about it not being official,” said Mrs. Martin, “but I would hardly call it nothing. We have to do something.”

“Do what?” asked Mr. Lahey. “And on the word of a boy that wanders in and out of the Maze willy-nilly. It was only a matter of time before he stepped beyond his bounds.” John opened his mouth to speak, but Lahey cut him off. “That being said: Hunters to wipe out the wolves would eliminate the threat of them at our western door. I’ve been all for that for years. So let’s get Hunters here, but don’t let it be because of a scared little criminal out in the Maze.”

John had had enough. “Hey! All I know is that my boy is out there fighting for his life every night in the dark, stalked by monsters, and I can’t help him,” he said. “And even with the odds stacked against him, despite everything, he’s managed not only to survive, but to try and do what’s right for the people of the Glade. You’ve no right to condemn my boy to my face in my own house. Not when it’s my boy’s integrity that’s saving this place and all the people in it.”

All were silent at that.

John sighed and said slowly: “Getting Hunters here would spook the Hales, threaten the treaty. Not getting Hunters here would spook our friends and neighbors should word get out about Peter Hale’s supposed plans. I feel that the wise course is a meeting with the Alpha Hale about Peter. We can’t have the threat of him looming over us all.”

“How do we call one of these meetings?” asked Coach.

“We send an emissary,” said John.

“It must be someone above reproach from our side sent to meet with them. Someone without an agenda,” said Rafael, straightening his cuffs. “I’ll go.”

“Someone who wouldn’t clunk their pants the moment he were in the presence of Changelings,” countered Mr. Lahey. “I’ll do it.”

“Someone who wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later,” said Melissa to Mr. Lahey, her tone accusatory.

“Someone who wouldn’t coddle them and tuck them into bed with a story,” said Mr. Lahey, his voice raised in anger.

“God damn it,” burst out Dr. Deaton, “I’ll go.”

Everyone fell silent and stared for a moment as the room considered the offer. No one objected.

Satisfied with the messenger, the committee turned to the message itself. “We should really do this in the Gathering House,” said Rafael. “This part should be written down.”

“Agreed,” said Mr Whittemore, “That way, there’s no misunderstandings.”

“So this is an official meeting?” asked Coach to no one in particular.

“And who is to write this love note?” asked Mr. Lahey, ignoring Coach completely.

“We all will, I expect,” said Mr. Harris. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the door of the Stilinski home.

Everyone filed out, each one murmuring to the other. John ignored them. He was sick of this place and its bureaucracy. When he moved his small family here he thought he could make a difference and raise his boy in safety. He had no idea it would press so heavily upon his soul to breathe, much less rise from his seat and trail after all the other committee members. A hand halted his motion. Scott.

John turned and smiled into his earnest eyes. The boy was practically a second son. “What is it, Scott?”

“Um, sir,” said Scott, “Stiles asked me to pass along a message to you, but I didn’t want to do it with other people around.”

“What?” asked John, looking behind him to see that all but he, Lydia, and Scott remained in the house. “Did you two speak to him today?”

Lydia spoke up: “I didn’t. Scott did. But then Scott told me and I’ve told no one. No. One. I swear. Until now, of course.”

Scott nodded: “He said there’s a strategy to surviving the Maze and he’s figured it out. That he’s okay. And he said to tell you that if you can survive one more night, then he can too.”

John didn’t say a word. He just held his arms out and felt Scott embrace him. He squeezed him tightly before releasing him, happy for the words of the boy before him and painfully wishing that it were his own son he were hugging. “Come on, we’ve got to catch up to the others.”

It took them three hours more to decide the words the emissary would use to ask for a meeting with the Hales. Dr. Alan Deaton was officially placed as emissary to the Hale pack and was expected to set off at the inner gate’s opening, traveling to the western gate where he would pass out of the boundaries of the Maze under the treaty’s emergency clause and speak to the Alpha (and only the Alpha) arranging for a formal meeting at a neutral place and time of predetermined mutual choosing… and John Stilinski was practically asleep listening to Rafael McCall and David Whittemore’s verbal masturbation; the most boring legalese was coming out of their mouths. Melissa gave him a tight look of “get me out of here” and he smiled at her. Just like her, he didn’t care when Deaton set out. He didn’t even care what Deaton said when he got there. He just wanted his boy home and in his arms and he would do whatever it took to keep him away from danger for the rest of his life, no matter what. Even if that meant hiring killers to kill a stranger.

 

~080~

 

The gates ground to a close for the final time on Stiles’ exile. He had hung by the western gate to see if Peter was foolish enough to try and enter the Maze and get trapped in there with him and the Grievers. He had no doubt that Peter could hold his own with a Griever, but more than one? Not a chance. He waited and waited until just before the gates came completely closed. It was then he spied a lone figure creep through the crack seconds before the loud boom that signaled the sealing.

He strained his eyes in the building gloom, the ivy creating a good hiding place high up, but a not so wonderful vantage point if you wanted to see details of persons below. Next time he would have to remember to pack binoculars. Stiles laughed to himself: next time? What was he thinking? He looked down again and watched carefully as the shadow stepped into the dimming light.

It was Derek Hale. And it looked like he had a back pack of his own.

Stiles gave up his cover immediately, calling down to Derek: “You idiot! Your mother is going to kill you! What are you doing here?”

Derek looked up, smirking. “Someone has to look out for you - idiot. Are you camping up there for the night?”

“I think so,” said Stiles. “Come on up. Plenty of room.” Stiles settled himself back and waited for Derek to climb up. It had taken him the better part of a half-hour to climb his way up the wall and he knew Derek would take less time, but he wasn’t expecting him to only be a matter of minutes.

“Cozy,” said Derek as he pushed his way through the ivy curtain and settled himself down. He took a moment to dig through the pack he brought before pulling out his father’s leather jacket and handing it to Stiles.

“Seriously?”

Derek smiled at him. “Yeah, why not?”

“Because… I don’t know,” said Stiles. “It was your dad’s. It’s special to you.” Suddenly he was bursting to tell him all about Peter and his mysterious threats.

Derek shrugged. “You need it more than I do right now. And I’m taking it back in the morning, so don’t think you can keep it.” He turned back to his pack and said: “I also got you some more water and some food. Oh and this.” He brought out Stiles’ own homespun shirt with the blood washed out of it.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I was worried about you.” He said it flatly and without meeting Stiles’ eyes.

“Me? What for?”

Derek shrugged. “It’s stupid that you’re in here over something so silly. The treaty is inviolate, to be sure, but it’s not so set in stone that we can’t forgive each other for being human.”

“You’re singing a different tune from when we first met, Derek. You’re mom’s right: you have changed.”

“She said that?”

“Yeah. She says I’ve ‘affected’ you. Whatever that means,” said Stiles. His mind flashed to Peter telling him that he and Derek made a lovely couple. He thought better of mentioning that - or at least that phrasing. “Your uncle has noticed that you’ve… taken a shine to me too.”

Derek looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? When did you and my uncle talk?”

Stiles told him the entire conversation.

“That son of a-”

“But he wouldn’t actually do anything, right? I mean, he’s a Beta in your pack, same as you. He has no real leverage,” asked Stiles hopefully.

“As a Beta he is beholden to the Alpha. Whatever my mom says goes - and that includes any and all attempts on the Glade. You heard her that day. She has no interest in violating the treaty.”

“Then why did he-? Derek, he made it sound like he already had a plan.”

“Because he’s a schemer,” said Derek. “He always has been. I don’t trust him. You shouldn’t either.” He sat with his legs crossed, his back against the stone wall behind and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, no,” said Stiles, trying not to notice the powerful profile to his left. “I don’t trust him.” He shrugged. “I just thought you’d want to know so that you could tell your mom in case my dad took my advice.”

“What advice?”

Instantly, Stiles regretted opening his mouth. “My advice was that… Peter Hale is a danger to us and… that he needed to find Hunters to get rid of him?” Stiles winced, clamping his eyes shut, bracing for Derek”s outburst.

“You did WHAT?” Derek jerked away from the wall, turning on Stiles, gripping him hard by the shoulders. _“You did what?”_ he repeated.

Stiles peeled his eyes open slowly. “Well he is the bad guy here, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” said Derek. His face held incredulity.

“I’m not proud of it, Derek, but the Glade is my home. And he’s going to try to kill or change us. I know it. He’s twisted and sick and he needs to be- well… he needs to be put down.”

Derek closed his eyes and spoke carefully: “Okay… before I rip your throat out with my teeth… I just want to take a moment here and parse out the facts. Okay?”

Stiles could see Derek struggle to get a grip on his anger and remained very still.

“Okay…” began Derek. “My uncle said nothing specific as to what he was going to do only that actions spoke louder than words?” Stiles nodded, not daring to speak. “And then what? He expects to change my mother’s mind about attacking all of you and destroying the peace we have between us, waltz into the Maze, persuade my mother to bite every Glader she can get her teeth into just so we can take over in there?” Stiles shrugged, unsure. “And because of this unspoken threat against you and your people, you went and told your dad to contact the closest batch of Hunters so they could come and kill my uncle?” With great hesitancy, Stiles nodded.

Derek breathed. “Okay, here’s what’s wrong with this whole idea: First of all, my mother would beat Peter half to death and push him out of the pack if he seriously threatened the lives of any of the Gladers - and that’s her being merciful. Second of all, Peter won’t fight anyone unless he has a clear tactical advantage or it benefits him in some way - which fighting all of you doesn’t have - because my mother needs to be party to it and she would never. And thirdly, what in hell makes you think that Hunters only kill one out of a pack? They’d come for all of us, Stiles. They’re not hitmen or assassins-for-hire; they’re exterminators.”

Stiles swallowed hard and was ready to cry. “I just wanted to protect-”

“I know, Stiles. I know.” In spite of himself he softened his glaring look with a bit of sympathy. “We’ll fix it in the morning. Right now, let’s get past the Grievers and the Maze moving, okay?”

“Okay,” said Stiles, “I’m sorry, Der. He freaks me out.”

“He likes to get into people’s heads,” said Derek. “I just wonder why he would bother. He’s not going to get anywhere.”

“He wanted me to shut up about his idea to take over the Maze. That much I know.”

“But even if you knew about our pack attacking you and had time to prepare yourselves, there are five of us in the pack and, no offense Stiles, but you and your Gladers wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Even with Hunters?” asked Stiles.

“Hunters are something else entirely, Stiles,” said Derek. “They’re like your Grievers: they don’t kill to protect; they kill to kill. It’s all they know.”

 

~080~

 

The wall move proved to be one of the highlights of the evening. That night’s cycle was the fifth of the eight possible Maze combinations. On the fifth cycle the entrance to the west was blocked off entirely. All the other gates remained clear, but the exterior western one did not and Stiles had known it. He really did. He just got caught up with Peter and then Derek and then Derek got angry with him and he sort of… forgot.

The one thing that saved them, the one thing Stiles had learned in his two nights in the Maze, was the walls moved in set ways. Every section of the Maze did not move simultaneously; they couldn’t. They had to shift in an order that allowed them to become the new pattern, one that wouldn’t obstruct other walls from forming. What Stiles didn’t know is which direction each wall moved and the new configuration it took once it had achieved its end. So when their conversation was interrupted by the chuk-chuk-chuk sound of the Griever that passed by below them, Stiles noticed how it skittered along quickly to the gate and back, checking for any sign of intruders and then disappeared around the only entrance to their right as they looked down upon it. By the time it disappeared, Stiles had alarm bells going off in his head that their safe haven might not be so safe.

He looked at the ivy that grew all around them and noticed that it grew to the right and left of the ledge and all the way to the floor and then came down from above, hanging over their ledge and forming a curtain that just met the ledge’s surface, but there was none directly below them for the width of the corridor below. “We need to get out of here,” he said to Derek.

And then the wall collapsed.

It fell like a domino toward the western gate and Stiles and Derek fell with it. The wall above them folded back and they were set to be smashed into the threshold of the western gate itself. Lightning quick, Derek grabbed Stiles just as the Glader had grabbed their back packs and the werewolf leapt down and toward the southern wall of the corridor as their ledge fell forward. They still risked being crushed to death at the rate they were going, but Derek had Stiles over one shoulder as he hurled himself bodily into a tiny ledge against the southern side of the corridor. He shoved Stiles inside and barely made it in himself just as the wall they had been riding on passed them by.

The wall slammed home with an earth-shattering _ka-boom_.

They remained still in there for some minutes, the only sound their combined breath and the Maze moving all around them until Stiles spoke: “Are we trapped in here?”

Derek realized that he’d had his eyes shut and he opened them onto a russet sunset-splashed Maze floor that came flush with the ledge he had shoved them into. Stiles was behind him and terrified; the boy couldn’t see anything. Derek could feel Stiles’ forehead pushing between his shoulder blades and he said: “It’s alright, Stiles. We’re alright. It’s all over. We can go now.” He shimmied his way out of the niche and helped Stiles to his feet, dragging the back packs after them. They walked along the pathway, the taller walls of the Maze still to either side of them but when they got to the end, the floor dropped away for twenty five feet to the actual Maze floor. Stiles looked at Derek and it hit him all at once: Derek saved his life again.

“I would have died,” he said, his voice flat from the shock.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” said Derek. “We were just caught up in conversation about Hunters and-”

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped their back packs, pushed Derek to the wall, and kissed him with everything he had.

Derek didn’t respond at first, Stiles felt it in his lips, but after a moment, warm hands found their way to his hips and Derek’s lips softened. Stiles broke away to look at him and found Derek staring back, incredulous.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“Just… grateful?” said Stiles, hoping that Derek would be okay with what he had just done.

“Uh-huh,” said Derek. Stiles backed off.

“You know,” said Derek, “where I come from, people just say ‘thank you’ when they’re grateful.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, humiliated. “Sure. Sorry.”

“And here we go with the apologies again,” said Derek. He shook his head. “Let’s just find another hiding spot and camp there. I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one night.”

 

~080~

 

It had taken them the better part of the night to find a decent hiding spot. They were run down by one Griever and just managed to lose it when another took its place. At least Stiles hoped it was another one. They all looked alike; it was hard to tell. In any case, Stiles was very happy they had managed to avoid both of them in favor for a niche closer to the northern exterior gate. It was well-protected by an overgrowth of ivy and gave ample room to the both of them. Despite being with Derek and having him warm beside him, he would have given anything to be laying in his own bed at home. All this cold stone hardness was getting to him. He wanted soft linens. He wanted a hot shower. He wanted to only dream about kissing Derek again because the real thing was awkward and awful.

And yet, as they lay there in the darkness catching their breath from all the climbing and hiding and running running running… he knew that the morning would come and he would have to say goodbye to Derek forever. Between the treaty and Derek’s mother Talia, his time with Derek was pretty much done. He would only be able to meet with him at the western gate - and only if Derek had his memory wiped. There was no way he was ever going to let Stiles kiss him again, nevermind do anything else.

I don’t think continuing this… whatever it is… is healthy for either of you…

We are wolf-kind. You are Munie. You stick to your side of the Maze, we’ll stick to ours, understood?

Her words still echoed in his head and he knew she was right. There was no way it would ever work. It was all just as well.

“You have to get out the northern gate as it opens,” he said to Derek. “Tomorrow morning. Just at dawn.” Derek nodded in understanding. “Your mom’s gonna be pissed as hell that you were in here again.”

“My mother will get over it,” he said. “It’s the treaty that I’m worried about.” Derek looked earnestly at Stiles. “Peter can be diabolical. He’s up to something and it doesn’t spell good news for any of us.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “I don’t want to think about that.” He wrapped himself in Derek’s coat, turned, and laid down against the stone. He tried to pick out the stars above them through the vegetation.

Derek leaned up on one elbow and looked down at Stiles. “I only hope your people haven’t called for Hunters yet.”

“Me either,” said Stiles. He caught Derek’s far away look and tapped him on the chest. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah. Things might seem better in the morning.”

“Sure,” said Derek, using his own pack as a pillow. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“’Night Der,” said Stiles. “And uh… sorry about the kiss thing. I didn’t mean to make you feel weird.” He could feel the warm heat of his blush spread up and around his ears.

“Forget it,” yawned Derek. “Just don’t try it again, Munie.”

Stiles found sleep much more receptive than the werewolf at his side.


	13. Chapter 13

As they lay in there new hiding spot for the rest of the night, Derek couldn’t settle down. Once again, the scent of the boy was too much. He felt slightly creepy propped up on an elbow just watching him sleep, the moonlight playing on Stiles’ skin, but the boy seemed undisturbed and so he let it go. He thought about how they survived today, how Stiles was really just a helpless human, how his own people had literally condemned him to death because without his presence in the Maze saving him, he would have died yesterday.

The urge to kiss his sleeping face was terrible.

Derek sighed, frustrated. “What the hell are you doing to me?” he whispered.

Stiles murmured in his sleep and rolled toward him, an arm flinging itself about his chest. Stiles’ nose found the crook of Derek’s neck and its cold tip almost made the werewolf jump. Derek maneuvered his arm beneath Stiles’ head, cradling it, his other arm wrapped around his back. He heard Stiles murmur soothingly.

“Stupid dork,” Derek chided softly. “What the hell did you kiss me for?”

He was answered by another intelligible endearing mumble from Stiles.

Derek sighed again. It seemed he was always sighing when it came to him. “Why do you make me care?” he whispered, his voice lost in the emptiness of the Maze as sleep slowly took him.

 

~080~

 

Dawn came too soon. The walls were tinged pink at the tops as Stiles nuzzled his face deeper into Derek’s neck. Derek woke him with a harsh poke to his shoulder.

“Ow!” Stiles jerked his head away and stared up at Derek’s waiting face. As soon as he realized how he had pressed himself into the line of Derek’s heat he apologized and rolled away from him.

“Good morning,” said Derek flatly. He scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked. “We’ve got to go.”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts and realized that there were many thoughts to collect. He had to make it back to the Glade doors in order to warn them not to send out the message for Hunters and pray he was in time. Derek must have sensed his anxiety.

“It’ll be alright, Stiles,” said Derek. “Just go back to your people and tell them that Hunters would be a mistake. My family and I can handle this internally. It’ll be fine. My uncle will listen to my mother. He’s stubborn and willful, but he’s still loyal. It’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that,” said Stiles, handing back Derek his coat. “But here’s the thing: it won’t be. Peter’s still Peter and once my dad finds out what he has in mind, it won’t be forgotten. And if he’s already told the committee, they’re going to want to do something.”

Derek gave him a grave look. “Then you have to stop it.”

 

~080~

 

Dr. Alan Deaton was a man of healing. He was a man of reason. He was a man of science. If there were a vote to be taken as to whether or not to get Hunters to come to the Glade, he would vote against it. So he was actually glad to volunteer and he was happy that the others on the committee trusted his character enough to be a reasonable and relatively impartial delivery boy.

When the inner doors of the western gate ground open, he was ready to walk the Trader’s road with a small canteen of water strapped over his chest and the very carefully worded letter in his shirt front pocket.

At first it had enough flowery legalese in it to shame the old Supreme Court, but after a few negotiations and realizing that Talia herself wasn’t an attorney, they had agreed that simple was best. In the end, the note simply read: “The committee of the Glade would like to set up an emergency meeting with the Hale Alpha at the borders of the western gate for a private discussion. Our need is urgent. Please inform our emissary of your response to this letter. The treaty is at stake.”

“Remember: you must only deliver that letter into the hands of Talia Hale herself,” said Rafael McCall. His heavy hand was on his shoulder and squeezed it for emphasis.

“I know that, Raphael,” said Deaton, trying desperately to keep the exasperation out of his voice. They had been up the better part of the evening wording and re-wording it so that it said exactly what they wanted it to and even Deaton’s seemingly inexhaustible patience was worn thin. He squared his shoulders and looked down the long corridor to the western gate.

“Hold it!” cried Coach, running over to join the others as they gathered in the pre-dawn light.

“What now?” said Mr. Lahey, clearly eager to see Deaton on his way so he could get back to the Blood House.

“You can’t go out there,” said Coach.

“Why not?” said Raphael. “After all our discussion last night, you’re going to stop this? We have to meet with the Alpha. You said so yourself. It’s the only way to broker a new peace. What the hell could possibly be the problem?”

“Coach is right,” said John shaking his head and smiling to himself. “You can’t go out this gate.”

Rafael turned to John, anger in his eyes. “Give me one good reason why - after all this - that we can’t do exactly as you’ve been asking us to do since we found out we’re targets.”

“Because, dumbass,” piped up Melissa McCall, who also realized the error about to be committed, “the outer western gate is blocked off on this cycle. No one can get in or out.”

There was a silence among them for a beat before Mrs. Martin started to titter. Melissa joined her laughter with a snort and a hand clapped over her mouth. John sighed and chuckled and soon they were all laughing at their obvious nervous stupidity; after all, they were all standing in front of the western gate when they knew better to have done so.

“I think I’ll use the northern gate today,” said Deaton. “Walk along the outer edge of the Maze and then head out toward the Trader’s Road.”

“Sounds like a much more efficient idea,” agreed Coach. “Go with that.”

Deaton shook Coach’s hand and walked off alone toward the northern gate. The rest of them watched him go as he passed between the small cluster of houses just north of the western gate and the edge of the Gathering House. They got a clear look at him all the way to the gates until he disappeared into their shadows.

Not too long after his figure was lost to the maw of the Maze, there was another figure that entered: Stiles.

John thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest as he ran to his son.

As soon as Stiles caught sight of his father running toward him, he ran as well, dropping his backpack and any pretense at teenage “coolness”.

John’s tears streamed down his face. “My boy,” he murmured as he clung to Stiles, taking in his scent and the feel of him alive and strong.

“Dad,” said Stiles. “Missed you so much.”

“Stiles?” asked Scott. He had run up to the pair and kept a respectful distance, but he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Stiles broke the hug with his dad, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. He looked around to see Scott and half the Glade standing there. All he could think to say was: “Hey.”

Scott smiled brightly at his best friend and closed him in a hug. “So happy to have you home, man.”

“Happy to be home,” said Stiles. Isaac was there handing him his dropped back pack when suddenly, all his wants and needs hit him. “Oh god, I need a shower and some fresh clothes and some real food and-” He turned to his father and pulled him into a huddle. “And I need you to ignore my request for Hunters. Please don’t send for them.”

“We haven’t,” said John. “But what we have done is requested a meeting with the Alpha Hale, Talia.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, not sure that even that was necessary anymore. Stiles trusted in Derek completely to handle things on his end. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have Talia see Stiles’ concern as official if the committee met with her. He decided to let it go.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” said John as he clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder and guided him back to their home. “And then we can talk about why you’ve changed your mind.” His father gave him that ‘why are you running me around the bend again, kiddo?’ look and Stiles winced.

“I have a good reason, dad,” said Stiles. “I didn’t understand what Hunters would mean to the Hale pack. I promise I’ll explain.”

“You’d better,” said John.

As they walked, Scott asked all sorts of questions about Grievers and the Maze. Stiles was exhausted but he tried to answer all of them; he told as much as he dared in front of other ears without giving away the fact that he had a bit of supernatural help on more than one occasion. Scott even followed him off to the showers, putting questions to him through the walls of the shower stalls. Melissa came by with some warm chicken and pasta and as Stiles wolfed it down, Scott asked him more and more until John intervened.

“Scott, don’t you think my son’s had enough for one day?” he asked.

“Sorry, Mr. Stilinski. It’s just… he survived the Maze for three whole days! That’s unheard of! It’s kind of a miracle that he’s here.”

“It’s okay, dad,” said Stiles. “Hey, Mrs. McCall? Do you think Scott could spend some time here?”

“I’m sure he could be spared at the Gardens for one day,” she replied. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Martin about it.”

“Cool!” said Scott.

“Yeah, but Scotty… I’m beat, man. I’m going upstairs and I’m gonna lie down. I’ll probably fall asleep. But I’d love it if you’d hang until I did.”

Scott smiled at him. “Sure, man.”

A light breeze was coming through the Glade and Scott helped Stiles prop the windows open and put screens over the openings to keep the bugs out. The air was deliciously cool and Stiles laid upon his bed for the first time in what felt like forever. He sighed.

“Good to be home?” Scott asked.

“The shucking best,” said Stiles, his voice muffled by the bed sheets and his pillows.

Scott sat on an unused corner of Stiles’ bed and watched him. “You survived the Maze, dude,” he said.

“Scotty… can you keep a secret?”

Scott smiled. “Stiles, how long have we known each other?”

“I didn’t do it alone,” said Stiles.

“What?”

Stiles picked his head up and faced him. “I didn’t do it alone. Derek Hale was in there with me. He helped me survive. Saved my life like, a billion times.”

Scott blinked at Stiles as he processed this information. “You cheated?”

“Ha! I cheated death, you mean.” Stiles frowned at Scott’s furrowed brow. “Look, you can’t tell anyone, okay? Just let them go on thinking that I’m the luckiest shuck who ever lived. Besides, Derek’s not a Glader. He can help me and it’s not against the rules.”

“Um… okay,” said Scott. He thought a moment and then smiled, his voice filled with more conviction. “Sure, man. My lips are sealed. Now get some rest, will ya?”

“Yeah,” he said, the swimmy feeling of sleep catching up to him. “Hope Derek got home okay,” he murmured as his body finally had its way and he drifted off.

 

~080~

 

Deaton hated that he had to go into the Maze to deliver this message; he limited his exposure to it as much as he could, only walking it once a week to the outer doors and back. He knew the path. He also knew the path that Stiles would take back to the Glade if he were coming in that gate. He was gratified to see the boy pass him by without a second glance as he walked along; he tried hard not to be seen making the corner just as Stiles made his way down the other corridor.

Dr. Alan Deaton had been living in the Glade for a year before John Stilinski came to the Maze. Stiles grew up before his very eyes. He hated to be on the committee that put him out into the Maze, but rules were rules. And by hiding from his return, he thought it fair; he didn’t want to be the first one to welcome him home. It wasn’t right. He knew that John would want that honor. But he did manage to poke his head around the corner and watch the happy reunion at a distance. He gave them a smile as he turned back to his appointed task.

The northern gate was just as he remembered and his feet hesitated when he came to the threshold. This is as far as he had ever been since the wars. He looked out over the trees and to the path that led outward, meandering back and forth until finally fading off into the distance for miles. All of it was haunted to him.

In his memory, he heard the screams of those that died, the wild tittering of the Flare victims, the Cranks, gone mad, the smell of smoke, the glow of distant fires behind them where the insane had set the trees alight and then themselves. He remembered running as fast as he could, helping those that fell, watching as more and more were captured and tackled, bitten and killed by the wolf-kind. There had been four different packs, including the Hales, but the Hales were fighting the other wolves, helping the humans, and moving them along toward the front of the stampede.

He blinked past the memory and wiped his brow. He needed to move along or he wouldn’t move at all. He put his left hand to the ivy and turned the corner, following the outer wall. His feet went crunching through the brambles and overgrowth as he kept to the treeline, never losing sight of the wall as he strode along. Ahead he thought he saw a figure, but he couldn’t be sure. He paused, watching, waiting.

On the rim of the next hill he saw a man walking away from him and to the north. A tree blocked his vision and then the man was gone. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn it was Derek Hale. He ran toward him.

He knew he was in better shape twelve years ago. Or maybe he didn’t feel as winded as quickly because he was actively being chased by werewolves and mad people at the time. Whatever the reason, Deaton huffed over the rim of three hills before having to stop and catch his breath. The wall of the Maze still loomed above him to the left so he knew he hadn’t lost his way trailing after whoever he thought was Derek Hale, but he could no longer see the figure in the distance. The person had simply vanished. Sighing, he gave up and walked on, holding a hand to the stitch in his side and wishing for an extra lung.

 

~080~

 

Derek scented him before he could see him. He sniffed the air carefully, thankful that he was downwind; he wouldn’t be spotted. He circled around, following the path far north of where he knew he was and as soon as he could, he allowed his wolf to run freely, skirting the other’s northern path and coming down again west of his position. This meant that he was now downwind, but it didn’t matter. He was beyond the boundaries of where he shouldn’t be and, if anything, the other would be wary that he might be watched. He smelled fear on the air for a flicker of a second replaced by urgency. Then the man was gone, far north of where Derek stood panting and out of the path of the wind.

Derek scanned the wood for any sign. He strained his ears to hear the running and panting of a third person far off toward the north border of the Maze from whence he had come. He was sure it wasn’t Stiles, but his heart thrilled at the thought. No. Stiles was too busy being reunited with his people, his father. He wouldn’t come out of the Maze and into forbidden territory.

If anyone held him at mountain ash-point he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he really did like Stiles. He frowned at the thought and shook his head. It was strange to be fond of someone you barely knew. It made him mistrust his feelings. Especially since it was a feeling he hadn’t had in ages. But his former experience had turned him cynical and wary.

Kate Argent should have been obvious. He should have smelled the deceit on her, her rage, her insanity, something. But she had him fooled. She smelled like cherries and sex and warmth and that was all he needed. He had been an idiot. She used him and then tossed him aside. He never saw her again. It was only later when his sister Laura told him that she was from a family of Hunters that he felt the true magnitude of her betrayal. Peter was the one who told him that those same Hunters were involved in the war. He had silently vowed to have it out with Kate before he killed her himself.

It was the Argent family that took out most of the pack members of the other packs during the war. They were merciless and ruthless, according to Peter. They would barely pause to see if someone was actual wolf-kind before they sliced them in two. And apparently Kate was one of the most eager little Hunters Peter had ever laid eyes upon. It was a miracle they were open to discussing peace.

It was their mother Talia that helped broker a deal that they were not to return unless human lives were taken. A deal that any Hunter would gladly break if Peter followed through on his insinuations toward Stiles and the other Gladers. Derek knew that if Stiles’ father convinced the committee to call Hunters, it would be the Argent family who would respond. And then he would be forced to see her again. And he didn’t want that. Not ever. It terrified him to think of what he would do if she walked back into his life again.

He turned for home and hoped that Stiles wasn’t too late and that the third unknown person near the northern gate was a friend and not a foe. He had to tell his mother. She would know what to do.

 

~080~

 

It was a momentary scent on the wind that startled him out of his thoughts as he headed north. Dawn was still breaking, the sun almost fully in the sky and he had a date to keep. Derek was out here somewhere and he couldn’t afford to be spotted. Not now.

As soon as the boy’s scent was gone, he altered his form and ran hard, his paws barely touching the earth as he glided along. Trees passed in a blur. He thought of what he was going to say. Once the other Alpha realized he was sincere, he would gladly help him; he was sure of it. All he had to do was convince him that he was right: all the humans must be bitten.

And Peter knew Deucalion was the one to do it.


	14. Chapter 14

Talia was standing on the front porch when Derek came up to her.

“The stink of that boy is all over you again, Derek,” she said. “I thought I told you: no more.”

“Mom,” said Derek, “you have to listen to me.”

“Why?” she retorted. “You never seem to listen to me.” She crossed her arms defiantly and her eyes flickered red. “You are to obey me, son. You are to stay away from that Glader boy. Their kind and ours are to be separate for the good of the treaty-”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, mom,” said Derek. “They’re going to get Hunters here.”

“What?! Why?”

Derek hung his head under his mother’s incredulous glare. “Because of something Peter said to Stiles. Stiles warned the Glade that Peter was going to orchestrate something against the Gladers and that they were in danger. He suggested to them to get Hunters-” Talia opened her mouth to speak but Derek cut her off: “-but I told him that was a bad idea and to allow us to handle Peter within the family. He’s gone back to the Glade today to tell them not to get the Hunters.”

From the low rumble of Talia’s growl, Derek could tell she was unconvinced that Stiles would be successful. She fell deep in thought for a moment. Derek left her alone. He knew his mother was wise, if sometimes volatile; she would know what was to be done, if anything.

“They can’t come along the Trader Road today,” she said at last, half to herself, half to Derek. “So they can’t send any messages via the Traders. They’ll have to wait until tomorrow to make any official sojourn to send word out. We’ll keep watch along the road. Take it in shifts.” She looked directly at Derek. “Tell Cora she’s on first watch after the gates open tomorrow. Then go to your room. You may be older, but you’re still my son living under my roof. You are grounded. And you will never see that boy again.” Then it was Derek’s turn to open his mouth to disagree. “No arguments.”

Derek was cut to the quick. He blinked at his mother. “May I say one more thing?”

“Go on.”

“Your plan is great and all, mom, but there was someone in the wood as I was coming back. Someone whose scent I didn’t recognize. At least, it seemed familiar, but I’m not quite sure who it was. Definitely a Glader though.” He didn’t know why he was holding back on the other scent he picked up and managed to avoid. His heart thumped a little at that but he hoped Talia would think it was because he was nervous about the stranger.

Talia’s eyes narrowed. “When was this?”

“Just now,” said Derek. “I didn’t know what you wanted to do about that.”

Talia frowned and took a breath. “I’ll wait along the Trader Road now. Whoever they are, they won’t get far.” She looked at her son sternly. “You. Do as you were told.”

“Yes, mom.” He watched her walk calmly into the woods before turning into the house.

After listening to Cora whine about the early hour of her stakeout which now may or may not be happening, Derek retreated to his room and collapsed on his bed. He wanted to hate his mother for forbidding him to see Stiles, but thought that a bit twisted for someone he had barely known. Perhaps it was the restriction itself that rankled, rather than the particular person it was applied to. Besides, the treaty had to be upheld; he saw the sense in her actions. If he were some moody teenager, he would have argued more with her about it, but his years as an adult had made him more rational.

If only his rationality didn’t seem to hurt so damn much.

 

~080~

 

Deaton turned the corner of the Maze and continued along the western side. It was cooler in the shade of the stone. As before, he kept to the treeline and in sight of the massive edifice heading south toward the Trader Road. He would have tried to find the Hale house in the wood, but his memory wasn’t as good for navigating through the trees. Even back during the wars all he did was go where others told him to.

Even though he knew the figure he saw was heading north, he thought it wise to keep a sharp look-out for anyone else in these woods. Peter Hale might discover him and kill him before he had time to explain. After close to an hour of trekking through the undergrowth and brush surrounding the trees closest to the wall, his vigilance paid off; he was sure that’s why he spotted her before she spotted him.

She was younger than he remembered, but then, she was wolf-kind and perhaps they aged slower. She faced the western gate with some confusion, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side, as though she had never seen it before. But it was blocked off on this cycle, so perhaps she was looking at the wall with curiosity. Whatever the reason, she stood there as though he were expected and it put his nerves on edge.

Tentatively he called out: “Talia? Talia Hale?”

She turned at the sound, her eyes flicking blue. “Who’s there?”

Deaton could have sworn this was Talia Hale, but her eyes were wrong. Who, then, was this?

“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Talia Hale.” Deaton stepped free from the woods and onto the road.

The girl was clearly confused. “Who are you?” she insisted.

“My name is Dr. Alan Deaton. And I’m-”

“In violation of the treaty,” finished Talia. She strode out of the wood, angry and determined until she caught sight of the young woman he had been talking to. “Laura?”

“Hi, mom,” she said with a sheepish grin, “I’m home.”

“Oh!” was all Talia managed before hugging her eldest child tightly. “I missed you so much! How were things in Sacramento? Still bad?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Too many Hunters. The other wolf families are scared. I got some of them out and to safety, but things became bad for me. So… I came home.”

Deaton watched the reunion in silence, thanking whatever gods may be for the distraction and the improvement in Talia’s mood that came with it.

“Mom?” Laura asked, eyeing Deaton curiously. “Who is this?”

“A Glader,” said Talia, breaking her focus on her daughter and turning on the man. “Why are you out of your Maze, Dr. Deaton? The last time we saw each other you were very grateful for its safety.”

“I am a member of the committee that runs the Glade now. I am here as an emissary as is allowed as part of the treaty,” he managed. Talia’s withering stare was making his blood run cold. “I am here to present you with this letter. Then I’m headed right back into the Maze. You can have me escorted back if you want. I’m in no position to argue.”

“Is this problem that dire?” she asked. “We have done nothing to you.”

“Before we tell you anything of what we think we know,” answered Deaton carefully, “please do us the courtesy of keeping track of your brother’s whereabouts.”

Talia’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”

“Nothing yet,” said Deaton. “That’s what we’re trying to prevent.”

“By getting Hunters here?” she asked, accusingly.

Deaton’s eyes went wide. “How did you-?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “A little bird told me. Nevermind how I know. What I want to know is why you never came to me first.”

“Ma’am,” said Deaton, carefully, “this is us coming to you first. We have notified no one. We wanted to tell you what was going on before things got out of hand. We want to honor the treaty.”

Talia nodded, thinking. “I see. You were always sensible,” she remarked as she took the letter he held out to her. Despite its simplicity, she read it twice before handing it back to him.

“Tell your committee that I will meet,” she said. “Tomorrow morning. Right here. Just as the gates open.”

Deaton smiled at her and made a small bow.

“On one condition,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. “That the boy Stiles’ father and you are the only two representatives allowed to communicate with us. There will be no need for your entire committee. You can relay any pertinent information back to them. If they trust you to do this, they’ll trust you to meet with me.”

“Yes,” said Deaton, slightly taken aback, “I’m sure that’ll be fine.”

“Good,” said Talia. “Now go back to your Maze. Tell them. I will be here in the morning.”

“Thank you, Alpha Hale,” said Deaton. Giving her a mournful look, he added: “I only hope we are too.”

He bowed again and stepped back into the woods, glad to have his duty done and wary of his responsibilities for the next morning. Between then and now, the day could hold many dangers.

 

~080~

 

Peter stood in the abandoned town square and continued to wait. It felt like a trap, but he couldn’t be sure. He had gotten his message out the last time he had been in Rockford along the Trader Road, but he wasn’t sure about where his contact had told him to meet up with the other Alpha. The buildings were derelict and falling down, the forest that surrounded them had begun to take over - weeds coming up through cracks in the asphalt and cobblestone, ivy overgrowing walls and pushing into open windows. Give this place a few years, Peter thought, and the woods would reclaim it completely.

There was a small disused fountain at the center of the square and Peter sat upon its edge. He listened to the wind in the trees. He attempted to scent the air for an approaching person, friend or foe. After a while, he was beginning to get bored and becoming more than a little angry at the feeling of being stood up. He paid solid gold for the information needed to arrive at this spot and he didn’t like being made a fool. Perhaps that young scruffy lad at the drugstore in town would have to pay for his misinformation - provided that Peter could track him down. He might have taken the treasure and run.

Peter’s claws came out at the thought.

“Now now,” said a voice. Peter stood to face three werewolves in human form. “There’s no need to get testy or impatient. You asked to meet; we’re here. Now what is it that you want?”

Peter retracted his claws when he saw them all. He could scent the Alpha right away: the man in the center of the three, sandy hair, slight build, commanding voice. Deucalion. Peter was sort of jealous.

The other two were twin males: strong jawlines and high foreheads over cunning eyes. They looked fierce but were definitely obedient to their Alpha.

“I need a favor,” said Peter.

“And that favor is?”

“I need you to kidnap my sister.”

 

~080~

 

Mr. Lahey’s house had a basement. It wasn’t a large space, only fifteen foot square, but it was sufficient for Mr. Lahey’s purposes. Only three people knew about it: him, his son, and whomever had built the compartment in the first place. When it came time for them to choose their land to live on, Lahey saw the advantages to having a hidey-hole - especially post-war. Most of the things he stored there he obtained on Trade Days: surplus dry goods in case the world went to hell again, a large storage freezer his son Isaac was very familiar with, a few household storage odds and ends he picked up - and a single homing pigeon.

Her owner named her Gilda and Lahey met him and the bird almost a year ago. He was trying to obtain a certain cloth for one of the ladies in the Glade and the store owner didn’t have it, but, he said, he could get it sent to him. Lahey had wondered how he had managed to do that and that’s when the man had winked at him craftily. He had taken him to an abandoned church bell tower where he had a dozen or more carrier pigeons. Lahey asked how it all worked and, once the man entrusted him to train and keep Gilda, he found he had a means to communicate with the town and a very special friend in the cloth merchant.

The cloth merchant was all too happy to assist Mr. Lahey - in exchange for a fee, of course. Mr. Lahey always managed to sneak off with fresh tomatoes or green beans for the merchant. But what the man was aching for were strawberries. The merchant provided the seeds and Lahey began to grow them behind his house in secret. In exchange, and on days where he went along the Trader Road alone, he would train the bird over and over again until it had learned the path from his home in the Glade to the bell tower in town. Soon he was sending messages to the merchant every week, reinforcing Gilda’s senses and hoping that one day he could send an emergency signal to the town in case of attack from without.

He didn’t believe that talking to a wolf could change its mind; to him, animals were animals. In his opinion, the committee had taken the coward’s way out when they agreed to a summit with the wolf bitch. He wouldn’t attend. He didn’t care what they had to say and he wouldn’t believe them anyway. The only solution for a wolf is to kill it before it kills you. If he had to save the Glade and everyone in it single-handed and against the committee’s wishes, so help him, he would.

He took Gilda from her cage and held her carefully, attaching the note and its container to her leg. He had hoped for this day; the day where Hunters would be needed to defend the Glade. The day where he could be the hero by bucking the system and doing what was courageous and right.

He brought the bird out into the sunshine and gave her a kiss on her head before sending her off to the merchant. He only hoped the merchant’s pigeons could spread the message wide enough for Hunters to arrive in time.


	15. Chapter 15

“Give me one good reason why I should help you,” said Deucalion.

“Because what I have to offer spells an expansion of your pack by hundreds of wolves,” said Peter. If Deucalion didn’t blink twice at his news, the twins behind him at least seemed intrigued. Peter sat at his ease on the fountain edge.

“The township of Munies to the west of your homestead,” said Deucalion. It wasn’t a question so much as a conclusion.

“That would be the main strike,” said Peter. “I’m glad you’re able to read my mind on this. I hated the thought of having to map everything out for you.”

“No need,” said Deucalion. He strolled up and down the cobblestones surrounding the fountain as Peter watched him carefully. “I remember the war. We made many kills that night even though the healthy flesh was few and far between.”

“There are even more healthy there now. Not many with the Flare in that little township.” Peter eyed him. Deucalion’s thin frame belied a certain strength and he couldn’t help but admire how his the twins seemed content just to stand and be at the ready like good little soldiers. “I seem to recall you and yours herding the healthy together,” Peter continued. “My sister saw it too. But she got them out of there - those that you didn’t happen to kill or change. She seemed to think that the Flare change was a reason to protect the weak instead of destroy them - a philosophy she still holds. Seems to me that you might be a little upset at her over that.”

Deucalion smirked. “Come to the point. What’s in it for you?”

“Freedom from my sister’s chokehold.”

“And that’s all?” asked Deucalion, hands outstretched. “Breaking from your pack isn’t difficult. All you have to do is accept another Alpha. It doesn’t require the kidnapping of your current Alpha.”

Peter didn’t say anything; he simply looked at Deucalion with a coy smile upon his lips.

Deucalion reached the natural conclusion: “You want to be the de-facto leader of the pack you have.” Deucalion paused and regarded Peter. “And you’re the next in line?”

“Not precisely,” said Peter, thoughtfully. “But I’ll handle that problem when the time comes.”

“I see,” said Deucalion. “And you expect me and mine to leave you and yours in peace once Rockford is taken?”

“I expect that we’ll be very good neighbors,” said Peter. “I can play ball when necessary.”

Deucalion paused in front of his twin warriors. After a moment’s thought he turned to Peter and said: “I’ll need to reflect on your offer.”

“Understandable,” said Peter and he rose from his seat. “But there is just one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“I plan on doing this first thing tomorrow, if possible. If I delay any longer, things will go sour and the opportunity will be lost forever,” said Peter.

“You don’t give me much time,” said Deucalion.

“Well, I could send word south to an Alpha down there, but again, time is of the essence and yours is the… most capable pack.”

“I see,” said Deucalion. He paused in thought. “Very well. Territory expansion is always a good thing. And there are currently no Hunters in Rockford. The next turn of the moon is three days hence and that will mean that there will be many more wolves to fight when and if the time comes.” He nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll attack the town first thing in the morning.”

“Very well,” said Peter. “I’ll arrange to be in the town tomorrow morning shortly after dawn. I’ll join you in the fun.”

With a small inclination of his head, Deucalion and his minions melted into the shadows leaving Peter alone in the mid-morning sunlight.

 

~080~

 

“Derek!” called Talia. Derek left his room and came to the top of the stair. She was looking up at him with her hands on her hips clearly angry. Next to her was a familiar face.

“Laura!” said Derek. He bounded down the stairs and gave his big sister a hug. “When did you get back? And why?”

“Well thanks a lot, brother of mine,” said Laura. “And to answer your questions: just today and because there was nothing more I could do.”

“Hey!” called Cora who came down the stairs with equal joy. “If Derek’s not, at least I’m glad to have you home.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Did you meet any cute werewolves in Sacramento?”

“Hardly,” said Laura, rolling her eyes. “Where’s Uncle Peter? I want to say hello to everyone.”

“Oh, who knows,” said Cora as she led her to the back porch where they could take in the late morning sun.

“Did you want something, mom?” asked Derek watching them go. His smile vanished when he caught his mother’s glance.

“I need to speak to you.” She crooked a finger at him and led him to the dining room, shutting the door behind them. “There are no Hunters yet,” said Talia. “But the damned committee that runs that Glade is all up in arms about it. They want a summit. Tomorrow morning when the gates open. I am to meet with them and two of the committee members. I want you there.”

“Me?”

“This is about Peter, I want you there as witness.”

“But I only know what Stiles told me-”

“And that’s the only information they have too. No one has spoken to Peter yet. Speaking of which, where is he?”

“I-” began Derek, his instinctive reaction causing him to want to lie to her about him. He had been in the middle of their squabbles before; he was used to covering up and telling white lies to establish a bit of peace. With Laura gone it was down to him to be the buffer. This time, however, his instinct was wrong and he knew it; he had to tell her what he knew. “He was headed north this morning. I scented him too. In the woods. When I came home. I’m sorry, mom. I should have told you.”

“Why was he headed north? There’s nothing north of here except the burnt out husk of a township.” Talia stared off into the middle distance, lost in thought.

“I don’t know. I didn’t run into him. In fact, I did what I could to avoid him,” said Derek. “Maybe he’s hunting?”

Talia’s eyes met Derek’s at that. “Yes. Maybe that’s it. I’ll ask him how it went when he gets back.” She walked away from him. “Speaking of eating: help me with lunch? With Laura being home, I think it’s a good idea to get some venison steaks from the fridge in the basement.”

“Sure, mom,” said Derek as he followed his mother to the kitchen where he found Laura and hugged her happily.

 

~080~

 

It began at lunch break in the mess hall with a few flicked peas, a call of “wolf lover”, and a round of laughter. Stiles mock-laughed in their general direction, never really meeting anyone’s gaze, and brushed the vegetables out of his hair.

“Ignore them,” advised Scott, giving the group an angry glance over his shoulder. “They’re idiots.”

“Yeah,” offered Isaac. “They don’t know that Derek’s actually kind of cool.”

“Derek saved my life twice in the Maze,” said Stiles. “He may be wolf-kind, but he’s the best kind of wolf.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s all kinds of hot, right Stiles?” teased Scott.

Stiles blushed and smiled at his beef stew.

“That’s what I thought,” said Scott and he grinned widely at Isaac.

“My dad doesn’t trust him,” said Isaac.

“Your dad doesn’t trust anyone but himself,” countered Stiles.

“And he says your mom and the rest of the committee are a bunch of pansies,” said Isaac quietly. “He says that the only smart thing Stiles has ever done was suggest what he had been suggesting for years: get Hunters to the Glade.”

“I’m surprised that with all your dad’s tall talk that he didn’t just train himself to become a shucking Hunter,” said Stiles, his anger building. “Maybe then the builders would have erected a statue in his honor smack in the center of the Glade so we could parade around it and salute it every morning before we lined up to kiss your dad’s ass.”

Even Isaac had to laugh at that, snickering into his plate, head bowed low. It was as if he did it so no one could see or hear him do it for fear his father would find out. “He is a prick,” he said softly.

“A total prick,” said Scott, eyeing Isaac carefully.

Everyone knew that Mr. Lahey was hard on Isaac. Only Isaac knew how hard.

“He’s been hinting at getting Hunters to the Glade himself,” offered Isaac in the smallest voice imaginable.

“What?” asked Stiles and Scott simultaneously.

“How?” asked Scott.

Isaac shrugged. “He says all kinds of stuff. I just try to ignore him. Stay out of the way.”

“I’m surprised you’ve shown your face here, wolf lover,” said a voice from behind Stiles. It was one of the tougher Glader boys, Donovan.

“Where was I supposed to get lunch today, Donovan?” asked Stiles. “Sacramento?”

Donovan placed one hand on the table beside Stiles and leaned in. “You mean they haven’t started feeding you out of a doggy bowl on the floor yet?”

Before Stiles could answer, Lydia stepped sat down at their table. She raised an eyebrow at Donovan and said: “Excuse you? Bullying is boring. Move along, jerk.” He left with a scowl. Stiles knew that his teasing wouldn’t end anytime soon.

“Fucking jerk,” muttered Stiles.

“Dude,” said Scott, his eyes widening, “if Preacher could hear you now…”

“Yeah, well… fuck Preacher,” said Stiles. “He’s dead and we’re still here. Stuck in this Maze. Like rats.” He eyed Donovan who was harassing some of the Sloppers as they tried to eat lunch. “Of course, some rats are bigger than others,” he added.

 

~080~

 

The pigeon was almost dinner. It was in flight and she had it in her sights when she noticed its leg. “Dad?” she called.

“Just take your time, honey,” offered her father.

“No,” she said, “Dad. It’s got something on its leg. It’s one of the messenger birds.”

It landed on the roof of their small cabin and her father looked at it carefully. “That’s Chester. Must be word from the town.”

“Maybe wolves,” said her aunt who was skinning a rabbit for their dinner.

“And maybe someone is trying to sell us bolts of fabric that we don’t need again,” sighed her grandfather from the door of their cabin.

The older man walked over to the hutch where the bird had perched and opened the small coop door that was under the shelter of the roof. The bird flew in and he picked it up easily. He loosened the message from its leg and unfolded the paper, leaving the bird to sit where it was.

“Well?” asked the man, curious to know what his father was so concerned about.

The older man’s brow creased and then cleared as a slow smile crept across his face. “Looks like you’ve got your wish, Kate.” He held out the paper proudly.

Chris Argent took it from his father’s hand before his sister could clean hers. He gave his father a curious glance. His daughter Allison read the words over his shoulder.

It was simple enough:

_Wolves in the Maze near Rockford. Come at once._


	16. Chapter 16

The sun was setting over the Hale household when Peter came strolling back through the woods. Talia met him with a smile. “I hear you’ve been a busy boy today.”

Peter shrugged, knowing he was missed, but not knowing what Talia was going to say about it. “And who has been talking to you?”

Talia laughed. “Peter, I’m your sister. I’ve known you my whole life. Don’t lie to me. It’s a waste of your breath.”

“You haven’t asked me anything,” he said.

“Where have you been and,” she sniffed the air, “whom have you been with?”

“Out and no one,” said Peter, pushing past her.

“Liar!” Talia roared.

Peter spun on her and his eyes flickered blue fire. “What is your problem?”

“Do you have any idea what trouble you’ve caused?” she asked, her tone angry.

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Peter. He had a feeling this had to do with the rat in the Maze. He had been wondering how long it would take from the moment he threatened one of their number until his sister confronted him. Two days. Interesting.

“The Gladers want to meet. They sent an emissary and we’re having a discussion at the gate tomorrow morning just past dawn. There’s talk of them bringing Hunters here.”

“And that’s my fault, how?” asked Peter, knowing full well what her answer was going to be.

“You managed to spook the Stilinski boy, Peter,” she said in her most accusatory and disgusted tone. “Why the hell did you do that? And more to the point: what the hell were you thinking?”

Peter shrugged again. “Clearly I wasn’t.” He sighed. “I was fresh off a kill, Talia. My bloodlust was up.” He knew the look she was giving him all too well. “Alright, so I’ll apologize. Will that make it all better?”

She shook her head. “I really don’t understand what has you so against the Gladers,” she said. “For thirteen years after the Flare we’ve been living in peace here, minding our own business, the Gladers minding theirs. Everything has been fine. And now you start stirring up trouble.”

“The boy started all this,” Peter reminded her.

“The boy is a teenager with the brain of a teenager. He was distracted, forgot himself. It happens,” she said. “You, on the other hand, are an adult. This would all be over and done with if you had just left well enough alone.”

“It would have happened someday,” said Peter. “It was only a matter of time before one of the rats got a bit stir crazy in the Maze. Remember what happened after the first year they were there: the group that went missing and wound up murdered? They suspected us then too, remember? Remember how angry you were? And then it all fell apart. You remember what happened next.”

Of course I do,” she said, her voice barely a whisper as her eyes unfocused with the memory. “They slaughtered them all. Just… killed them in cold blood. They were normal Munies. Survivors of the Flare and the war for the Maze. And they cut them down like-”

“-Dogs,” Peter finished for her.

“They thought they were wolf-kind,” said Talia defensively.

“Yes,” agreed Peter, “because they were intentionally mislead. Need I remind you, sister, that that would have been us and our family ripped apart limb from limb had not that sweet little girl our lovely Derek was in love with pointed them in a different direction.”

“Kate Argent.” She spat the name. “And that father of hers was a devil,” she said. “He had no conscience, no concept of mercy. I will never forget his face. He was heartless.”

“That’ll happen when you have a wife and a daughter-in-law bitten in the war,” said Peter. “I heard that the wife died from the bite and the daughter-in-law took her own life before it could take. Now that’s a brave woman. One marvels at what kind of werewolf she would have become if only she could have stomached the idea.”

“She was a Hunter,” said Talia. “She preferred death rather than go through the Change.”

There was a moment of silence between them so deep one could hear the leaves falling to the forest floor around them.

Finally, Peter broke the silence: “So now the Gladers are spooked and they’re talking Hunter-gathering, eh?”

“With no thanks to you, yes.”

“Then I’ll go to this summit and apologize in person,” said Peter. “I’ll make nice-nice with the natives and soothe the wee lambs.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” said Talia, her eyes flickering red. “If you show your face there, they will see it as a threat from all of us. No. You will stay behind in the house and you will not come out until I am home again. I have to think of a good punishment for you. You will pay for this just as the Stilinski boy was punished by his own people.”

Peter blinked at her, his lips pursed. “So? What? I’m grounded?”

“Effective immediately,” she said.

“Wow… for a minute there you sounded exactly like mom.” He turned on his heel and walked back to the house.

Talia shouted after him: “By the way, Laura’s home.”

Peter stopped in his tracks. “What?” he asked, not turning to meet her gaze.

“She’ll be excited to see you again, Peter,” said Talia. “It’s good to have my whole family under one roof again. Safe and sound.”

“Indeed,” muttered Peter as he continued toward the house, his mind spinning with options and possibilities and strategies and plots.

 

~080~

 

“I haven’t been around wolf-kind in eleven years,” muttered John over his oatmeal. “Why was I chosen for this? And why can’t I have ham and eggs like Deaton?”

“Because Stiles and I agree that less pork fat and cholesterol in your life, the better,” said Melissa, offering him some diced apple for his meal which he waved off with an impatient hand.

His mood might have been a tad brighter if Raphael McCall weren’t sitting at his left elbow grilling him on behavior and tactics.

“You can’t have any sudden movements happening today,” he said. Raphael sat sideways along the bench seat, straddling it, so he could hover toward him, practically leaning into his bowl. “So if you’re going to produce our copy of the treaty for any reason, explain what you’re going to do before you do it.”

“I do know what to do, you know, Raphael,” snapped John. “Before the Flare, I was a cop.”

“A beat cop, not Homeland Security,” said Raphael.

“A sheriff,” corrected John. His stare could have bored through steel.

“Whatever,” said Lahey. “Just watch your damn back.” He turned to the others at the table. “I still think they should go in armed.”

“No!” said Deaton. “I’m not carrying a weapon of any kind.”

John shrugged. “I’d feel a little safer with something. But… I doubt I’ll have the chance to use it against Talia Hale.” He had heard of her swiftness and strength during the war. He didn’t want to cross her if he could help it. His gut warned him against going there completely unarmed, however, and he added: “Or any other werewolf.”

“You think Peter Hale will make an appearance?” asked Coach.

John scooped another spoonful into his mouth to buy time to think as the rest of the table went silent. “I sure as hell hope not,” he replied finally. His eyes met Coach’s. “Make sure the kids know the Maze cold today. Drill them hard, Bobby. If this goes south for whatever reason, if Peter Hale is off the reservation, they’re going to need to be able to run it.”

John and Deaton finished their breakfasts in silence before strapping their canteens to their hips and heading toward the gate.

 

~080~

 

 

It was several minutes before either man spoke again. They made their way through the Maze to the western gate, their footfalls echoing gently around them.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” whispered John.

“It was bound to one day,” said Deaton. “The treaty is only as good as the people who uphold it and… well, people are people.”

“You’re very philosophical about all this,” said John. “And you seem very calm.”

Deaton shrugged. “I’m of the belief that whatever will happen, will happen. We’re here to talk peace. They know that. When we invaded their lands, they abided by the treaty and sent their emissary, whom we treated with derision and what amounted to very little respect. I expect marginally better from them. My guess is, we were a damn sight more disrespectful to her son than Talia Hale will be toward us today. But we can probably expect unspoken hostility from their side considering what we’re coming to discuss.”

John grimaced at the thought. There was another moment of silence between them before John spoke again: “You knew her, didn’t you? Talia Hale? During the war.”

Deaton chuckled. “People call it a war. It was more like a battle skirmish and a run for cover.” He kicked a small stone out of his path and added: “Yes, I knew her. Insofar as any Munie can know someone of were-kind. I’ve found the ones I have encountered to be quite socially exclusionary.”

“That’s a hell of a way to put it: “Socially exclusionary,” said John smiling. “Mostly I’ve just known them as people to avoid.”

Deaton eyed him. “Never thought of being a Hunter?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I just thought…” Deaton blushed a bit. “I thought with your training, you could be quite the tracker.”

“I am trained to serve and protect,” said John, “not to hunt and kill. No. It’s like Stiles said: those people got no choice in the matter - same as the rest of us. The Flare hit us all, one way or another. I don’t think bringing more death and destruction into this world is a good way to begin again.”

Deaton smiled broadly. “And you were wondering why fate chose you for this mission.”

John smiled back at him but the joy didn’t quite reach his eyes. He sighed and looked up at the walls that loomed over them, praying that Talia Hale would be as peaceably-minded as he was.

 

~080~

 

She tapped her foot and waited in the foyer. She didn’t mind having to get out of bed early. But to get ready for the day earlier than normal and then be made to wait while her son got his act together was beyond annoying.

“Let’s go, Derek!” she shouted up the stairs. “The Gladers will be there thinking we were insincere about wanting to meet.”

“I’m coming, Mom,” said Derek. He bounded down the stairs two at a time as he put on his leather jacket. “What I don’t understand is: why me? Laura’s home now. Shouldn’t she be the one to go with you as second-in-command?”

“I want a face there that they’ll recognize,” she said. “Deaton knows me, Stilinski knows you. It’ll put everyone at their ease. Now let’s go.”

“Have fun,” offered Peter, revealing himself in the doorway of the living room.

“I doubt we will,” said Talia, “but thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want me to-”

“No, Peter,” said Talia. “I do not want you there. I plan to keep this conversation friendly and brief. There will be no Hunters in Beacon Hills or the Maze for as long as I’m living here.”

“I think you might be right,” said Peter.

She gave him a curious glance at that but let the comment go. “Just stay put, Peter.”

“Yes, yes,” said Peter. “I’ll bide my time until the judge and jury return to sentence me.”

“Don’t worry, mom,” said Laura. She came up the corridor and stood at the foot of the stair, watching both her uncle and her mother with a bemused grin. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Talia and she kissed her on the cheek before she and Derek left the house for the western gate.

Peter turned to Laura. “To be honest, I’m glad I have your help this early in the morning.”

“Help?”

“In the basement,” said Peter. “There’s some warmer clothing I’ve been meaning to dig up. I may as well prepare for the coming winter. I have a feeling I’ll be out in the cold soon enough.”

Laura huffed a laugh and moved toward the basement door. “Come on, Uncle Peter,” she said. “Let’s get your sweaters out of mothballs.”

Minutes later he was standing over the unconscious body of his favorite niece. Well, she wasn’t really his favorite. He didn’t really have a favorite. All he knew was he needed her out of the way in order for his plan to succeed. But she needn’t die. He chained her inside the cell they had built years ago when each of them went through the first change. It was big enough for two with enough restraints for four. And that was convenient because he needed to take care of Cora next.

He mounted the stair slowly, a lead pipe in his hands.

 

~080~

 

“There goes three hours of my life I’ll never get back,” complained John as they walked back through the Maze to the Glade.

“Think of it this way: we’ve gained a little more flexibility in communication between our people,” said Deaton. “This way, should one of our number make a mistake, they can be escorted back safely under the treaty. And no wolf is allowed into the Maze without an escort. Gladers can take action if it ever happens. I’d say that Talia Hale making any small allowance for Hunters in her wood was not only an act of generosity, it was a downright act of God.”

“Yeah, I didn’t see that coming,” said John, “Lahey and McCall should be happy with that. And Peter… what a piece of work he is. I hope she’s able to make him see sense. We can’t have a war - I’m glad she agreed with us on that point. She doesn’t want Hunters here any more than we want bloodshed. That’s a good thing.”

“Agreed,” said Deaton. “The committee should be happy, all in all. It was a good meet-up.”

“Yeah,” said John, “I just thank God it’s over.” Deaton smiled at that and they walked for a few minutes in silence.

The sun was well over the walls of the Maze and was beating down on them as they walked down one pathway, only to shroud them in shadow and cool morning air when they turned the next corner, following the path home. The morning was a fine one and both men were secretly happy for the opportunity to do something different from their daily tasks. Usually by this time, Chief of Security Stilinski would be solving some Glader dispute about who borrowed something from someone or whether or not it was stolen. Deaton would be busy doing inventory in the Med-Jack tent, checking on supplies and filling out re-order forms to turn in to the Traders for next week’s journey into the township.

Deaton supposed it was his need to care for others that caused him to mention it, but he couldn’t say for sure. All he knew was that something about the other Hale had bothered him the entire time they were talking. He expressed his concern to John; he had to know if his instincts were correct. “I did notice some tension with her boy,” said Deaton. “Did you?”

“Derek?” said John. “Aw, who can tell? His expression is so inscrutable most of the time, I can’t say whether he’s happy or sad.”

“It wasn’t in his face,” said Deaton. “It was more in his body language, really. It was as if- because he was so expressionless, I could tell that he was holding tight onto himself about something. I just couldn’t tell what.”

“Now that you mention it,” said John, “he was kind of over-clenching his jaw, wasn’t he?” He shook his head. “I must be losing my edge. I was trying so hard not to get my throat ripped out, I was missing things.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said. “You were doing most of the talking. You had enough to contend with staring down Talia Hale.”

John let out a short bark of laughter. “You aren’t kidding. That is one tough lady.” He gave Deaton a side glance. “Kinda striking though, eh?”

“Sure,” said Deaton, “I especially love how she can transform into a wolf and rip a guy’s arms off.”

John sobered. “Yeah. That. Nevermind.”

It took them an hour to walk from the western gate to their home and John and Deaton made easy werewolf-free conversation the rest of the way to the Glade.

 

~080~

 

While John was holding negotiations with a werewolf, Stiles was finding himself in the middle of slightly different negotiations. Isaac Lahey had information and Scott and Stiles were determined to get it out of him - by any means necessary.

“I will do your homework for the next week,” said Stiles as he leaned over his breakfast, his hunger replaced with a yearning to learn more about Mr. Lahey’s secret plans.

Isaac looked at him incredulously. “Why would I do that? I have better grades than you.” He hunched over his eggs, spooning them into his mouth quickly. It was a habit formed from a lifetime of staying out of the way, staying quiet, staying invisible.

“Then I’ll do it,” said Scott, happily biting into an apple.

Isaac gave him a pointed stare. “Better grades than you too, shuckface.”

“Who are you calling a shuckface, shuckface?” countered Stiles, getting ready to leap over the table.

“Dude,” said Scott, holding Stiles back with one hand to his shoulder. “He’s right. He has better grades than both of us.”

“Then what else have we got?” asked Stiles.

Scott shrugged.

“I’ll take either of your places on the lacrosse team,” said Isaac.

“No way,” said Stiles.

“I thought Coach said you couldn’t play because of your dad?” said Scott.

“Dude, you have asthma and you get to play,” said Isaac. “All I have is a crappy dad.” His eyes went wide. “Don’t tell him I said that,” he added quickly.

Scott and Stiles looked at each other knowingly. “Don’t worry about it,” said Stiles.

“Look,” said Scott, “fine, take my place-”

“What?” interjected Stiles.

“Take my place and tell us what you know,” finished Scott.

“Cool!” said Isaac, shoveling in another spoonful of eggs and smiling like an idiot.

“Isaac?” asked Stiles in his best ‘let’s focus here’ voice, his hand motioning in a circle.

“Okay,” said Isaac, his eyes resting carefully on his father from across the room. “But we have to be quick and quiet.”

“We can do that,” said Stiles, nodding to Scott.

“Sure man, just tell us what your dad said about getting Hunters here.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, “and tell us how it’s possible that he could get Hunters here himself.”

Isaac looked around the mess hall, measuring the distance between his father and the nearest door. “I think it’s better if I showed you.”

They got up as inconspicuously as they could and made for the Lahey house. No one followed.

 

~080~

 

“Can you believe that took three hours?” said Talia Hale as she and Derek made their way through the wood back to the Hale house.

“Felt more like three hundred,” muttered Derek. While he had little to do with the actual negotiations, he could tell that his mother’s idea of his presence being a calming one had worked; John Stilinski gave him a smile and a handshake when they had seen one another. It had been a good sign and a needed break in any tensions that had built up in the interim.

But legalities were not Derek’s strong suit. If he was honest, they weren’t even his weak suit. He was more of an interrogator. A ‘push them up against the wall and scare the crap out of them so they tell the truth’ kind of guy. All that nit-picking had made him irritable. He hadn’t eaten all morning either, but that was his own fault for sleeping in. He wondered if he could get a small reprieve from his grounding in order to hunt. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

At the next clearing, he turned to his mother to ask his question when his eye caught something peculiar in the distance.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing.

His mother followed his gaze and in the distant sky they both saw a plume of black smoke drifting lazily into the morning clouds.

“That’s in the direction of Rockford,” his mother muttered. She turned to him and ordered: “Go to the house. Get your sisters. Then all three of you join me in Rockford. Something is desperately wrong.”

Derek nodded and transformed, running as fast as he could to his home.

Talia eyed the sky for a moment before she too shifted into a she-wolf, black as night, eyes like fire. She howled once and ran as fast as her paws would let her.

 

~080~

 

“It’s under here,” said Isaac. He was sweating profusely and visibly shaking. His eyes darted from the place he was pointing out to his two friends to the front door and back again. “I feel sick,” he said.

“Under your dad’s bed?” asked Stiles. He fell to his knees and looked underneath the simple wooden frame.

Scott looked at Isaac, concerned. “Dude it’s fine. We’ll tell him we put you up to it. Threatened you or something.”

Isaac nodded. “Dad keeps stuff hidden down there. To make sure I don’t get into it. Or if he wants to punish me. It’s so I don’t eat all our food.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Scott. “We get all the food we need in the mess hall.”

Isaac shrugged. “Dad says it’s good to be prepared for another war.”

“He puts you under his bed to punish you?” asked Stiles.

“In the room down there, yeah,” said Isaac quietly.

Scott and Stiles looked at each other curiously but let it go. All three boys shifted the bed and as Stiles and Scott pulled at the ring in the floor, Isaac was biting his nails and wondering if everything could be set back without his dad knowing. Stone shifted against stone as the panel came up, revealing stairs cut into concrete leading downward.

“Give me a flashlight,” said Stiles. Isaac handed one to him from a small shelf. “Come on. Quit being scared. We’ll take the blame for this. It’ll be all good.”

Isaac looked as though he had his doubts and watched as Scott followed Stiles. He stood on the edge as the boys’ heads disappeared from view.

“Are you coming down or what?” asked Scott.

“I’d really rather not,” said Isaac. “I’ll stay and keep lookout.”

“You can’t, slinthead,” said Stiles. “You have to show us the thing you needed to show us. You said it was down here, so get down here.”

Isaac swallowed hard and put his foot on the first step. Scott came up the stairs quickly and Isaac fell back against the wall in his fright.

“Dude,” said Scott, “what’s up with you? The quicker we get this done, the quicker we get to go on with our lives.”

Stiles was right behind Scott on the stair and shone the light in Isaac’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “so let’s get a move on. I’m growing old standing here.”

“I- I-” stuttered Isaac. “I really don’t want to. Look, I’ll tell you what it is: it’s a bird. You can’t miss it. It’s a bird in a cage.”

“A live bird?”

“Yeah,” said Isaac, “Her name’s Gilda.”

Scott and Stiles looked at each other and descended the stairs once more. Isaac sat where he was, feet on the first stair, back against the wall. Their voices could be clearly heard from below him.

“Why does your dad have all this dry food here? How did he get it?” asked Scott.

“Black markets in Rockford, obviously,” came Stiles’ reply.

“But why does he have it at all?” asked Scott.

“Because he’s a selfish bastard who thinks the world is going to come to an end and we’re all going to die of the Flare or because of werewolf attack,” said Stiles. Then: “Dude, there’s no bird here.”

“What?” asked Isaac, sitting up.

“There’s no bird here,” said Stiles, slowly enunciating his words.

“He’s right man,” said Scott. “There’s no bird, but there is a cage.”

The two boys came back up the stairs, cage in hand. “See?” said Stiles.

“Oh shit,” whispered Isaac. “Oh shit, he’s sent her.”

“What?” the boys asked in unison.

All three of them felt the dread rise as Isaac said: “Gilda. She’s a homing pigeon. We’re too late. He’s already sent for Hunters.”


	17. Chapter 17

Derek bounded up the stair and ran straight into Cora’s room, confident that the girl was still in bed even though it was late morning. Her room was usually messy, but the state Derek found it in brought “messy” to a whole new meaning. Her bed was broken. One foot of it was kicked under and that corner of the mattress was on the floor, sheets strewn every-which-way. Her chair and desk were smashed to bits, papers and books scattered about the floor like leaves. There was a dent in the wall about the size of a fist and another even higher, the size of a human head. The air held the tang of fear, anger, and betrayal.

Derek backed out of the room slowly, the scent of his sister’s rage following him. He listened, but heard only the wind in the trees outside. His brain was jarred by the juxtaposition of the calm sights and sounds and the smell on the air, the tang of metal in his mouth.

“Cora!” he cried. He ran off to Laura’s room. It was in good condition, the only exception to the pin-perfect neatness was her duffel bag half unpacked in one corner.

“Laura!” he shouted. No one answered him.

“Peter!” he said, his hackles raising with every creeping second that went by. “Peter, this better not be one of your tricks!”

He raced downstairs and stood in the foyer, listening. He strained to hear past the trees outside, past the settling of the house. He sniffed the air and caught the scents of everyone he was searching for.

A part of him wondered if this wasn’t a test. Peter used to test all their senses when they were little and first changed. He said it was important for family to be able to find each other should something bad happen. That’s also when he learned about scenting for emotion in the air, the chemical signals.

What was useful to know then was proving useful to Derek in that moment. He stilled himself and sniffed and listened, closing his eyes in concentration. There. He caught it. Past the scent of fear, betrayal, and hatred there was another tang: stifling and mossy. It was the smell of the damp in the basement.

He turned for the basement stairs, following its distinctive odor now that his nose had the scent. He tried the door and discovered it was locked. Not bothering for the key, he shouldered it open and bounded down the stairs, the scent of his sisters getting stronger. He turned on the light at the bottom and spotted Cora first.

She was balled up in the corner of the cage, wrists bound to the wall behind her by long chains. As he came closer, he saw Laura. Her hair was matted with drying blood. He ran to the door and shook the iron bars. Cora snapped to immediately.

“Derek!” she said. “Uncle Peter’s gone nuts! He attacked me when I was sleeping. He had a piece of lead piping and he tried to hit me with it. He’s fucking crazy! Where’s mom?”

“Peter did this?” asked Derek.

“Yeah. Where’s mom?”

“Rockford,” he said as he dug through the different mason jars on the shelves in the basement, one of which contained the key to the cage. “There’s a fire or something going on. Mom asked me to get you and Laura and get back to her in town.”

“Crap,” said Cora. “Uncle Peter took off as soon as I was locked up tight.” She watched him searching for a moment before she said: “Derek, they’re in the wood pile bin. Inside hook.”

“That’s where mom moved them to?” he said.

“Yeah, well… you and Laura loved to lock each other up in here when you were kids. Mom made me promise not to tell you where she kept the keys and so she and Uncle Peter were the only two who had access.”

Derek retrieved the keys and unlocked the door. Then he ran to Laura, checking her wound.

“She’s been out cold since I was put in here,” offered Cora. “Is she okay?”

“She seems to be healing just fine,” said Derek and he unlocked her fetters while he was there. Coming over to Cora he added: “You look like you put up a hell of a fight. Are you okay too?”

She shrugged. “Sure. It was only Peter. I don’t think he wanted to kill me so much as subdue me. He never said why he was doing this.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Shit,” said Derek, his eyes suddenly far away. “I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah, we’ve all got to go. To chase down Peter. Maybe he’s in Rockford,” said Cora.

“Yeah,” said Derek absently as he moved toward his other sister.

“That’s not what you meant, is it?” asked Cora. “You’re worried about your Munie rat?”

“Never mind that,” said Derek. “Help me wake up Laura.”

“Water,” said Cora, nodding toward the cork-sealed glass jugs of rain water in the corner. “Water on her face; that should do the trick.”

They splashed water over Laura and she gasped and coughed awake. “What the fuck?!”

She sat up and held her head, sudden explosions going off behind her eyes. “Oh, god!”

“Take it easy,” warned Derek. “You’ve had quite a hit, but I think you’ll be okay.”

They helped Laura to her feet and as they walked her up the stairs, they explained to their confused sister that Uncle Peter had basically gone off the deep end.

“But where would he have gone?” asked Laura, her head clearing more and more with every second.

“I have an idea,” muttered Derek. “Which is why I’ve got to go.”

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” said Cora.

“No time to argue,” said Derek. “You help mom in Rockford. I’ve got to get to the Maze. I’ve got to find Peter.”

Before they could discuss it further, he was out the door and gone.

 

~080~

 

John and Deaton were greeted by the committee and ushered into the Gathering House before Stiles, Scott, or Isaac could tell them about their trip to Mr. Lahey’s secret lair. Stiles couldn’t bring himself to call it the Lahey basement. That would make it sound like Isaac was just as culpable as his father and that simply wasn’t true.

Isaac went pale as his father brushed past them along with the rest of the committee members, eying them as if to say ‘Don’t you have a job to do around here?’ The sheriff had just enough time to catch Stiles’ eye and give him a reassuring wink before the crowd moved him along and out of sight.

As soon as the committee was secure in the Gathering House they huddled together.

“What do we do?” asked Scott.

“What can we do?’ asked Stiles. “If Hunters are on their way, they’re on their way. We can’t send another bird because we don’t have one and even if we did, what message would we send? ‘False alarm, guys! We don’t really need Hunters. The werewolves here are great!’ Dude, no way.”

“I don’t think we should do anything,” said Isaac. “As a matter of fact, I’m willing to forget the whole thing.”

“We can’t!” said Scott. “Stiles, you said yourself that Derek is a good guy.”

“He is,” said Stiles, “and if those Hunters come, they won’t just kill Peter. Derek says that they don’t work like hired assassins; they’re exterminators. They’ll go after the whole Hale pack. Derek included.”

All three of them went silent at that. They didn’t want innocent werewolf blood to be spilled any more than they wanted Peter invading their home and biting everyone in sight.

“But…” ventured Isaac slowly, “if all the werewolves were gone… wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

Stiles saw red. Scott leaped in front of him as Isaac jumped back, terrified. “Take that back!” Stiles shouted. “Take it back now!”

“Dude,” said Scott, “get a grip. People are staring.”

It took a second for Stiles’ anger to subside enough for him to relax. He gave a quick look around at the curious stares of some of the nearest Gladers before he walked slowly to Isaac and said in a low careful voice: “Take it back. Now.”

“I take it back,” said Isaac. He was visibly shaking.

Scott regarded Isaac with curious pity for a moment before asking Stiles: “So what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” said Stiles. He was on the verge of tears. He could feel it. In that moment, he missed Derek’s quiet power next to him.

“We’ll think of something,” said Scott, putting a comforting hand to Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey! What if we tell the pack?”

“What?” asked Stiles.

“What if we tell the Hales to expect Hunters? That it was Isaac’s dad who called them? That we don’t know if they got the message or not, but if they do, that they’re to expect them? Maybe they’ll clear out? I don’t know.”

“That might work,” said Stiles. His eyes held hope.

Isaac interjected: “But then they’d be pissed as hell - specifically at my dad - and we’d have to deal with angry werewolves just outside our gate. They could control both the northern and western gates, you know. My dad said-”

“Fuck your dad,” spat Stiles. “He’s done enough, don’t you think?”

“My dad was only trying to protect the Gladers,” said Isaac defensively.

“Your dad was trying to run the Glade,” countered Stiles.

“Guys!” said Scott. “We’ve got to think about who gets this info next. Now come on! Before the whole of the Glade comes down on us and we’re busted.”

Before either of them could respond to Scott’s logic, a long lonesome sound came from the distance. It caused the boys to turn and face the source: the western gate. The sound bounced and echoed off the walls of the Maze and they went pale.

“It’s Peter,” said Isaac.

“Stiles?” asked Scott.

“That’s not Peter,” said Stiles. He was sure. He was more sure about this than he’d ever been about anything in his life. “That’s Derek.” He turned to his friends. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

 

~080~

 

Stiles didn’t give his actions a second thought as he burst past the inner western gate out of the Glade and into the Maze. He only knew Derek needed him. He traveled as fast as his feet would go. He didn’t even make sure the other boys were following. The air in his lungs stung a bit until his breathing regulated and his brain buzzed at the thought of seeing him again, the thought of telling what he knew.

It took him twenty minutes to run from the inner to the outer gate and as he turned the last corner and barreled down the straight-away to the opening, gaining ever closer to Derek who paced just beyond the threshold, the joy of seeing him again was replaced by a slow dread that something awful was happening and there was nothing a skinny, defenseless human like him could do to stop it, no matter how badly he may have wanted to.

Derek’s pale eyes looked pitiful in the late morning light. Stiles slowed to a stop at the threshold and bent double, balancing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“You… called?” he panted.

“Thanks for coming, Stiles,” said Derek. “But you didn’t have to bring the whole Glade.”

The sound of footfalls behind him let him know that he outran both Isaac and Scott. He straightened himself slowly and his heart almost stopped at the sight of Derek, focused, driven.

“I called you here to tell you that there’s trouble in Rockford. Don’t leave your Maze. Have you seen Peter?”

“What?”

“Rockford?”

“Trouble?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We need to help them; they’re humans like us.”

“Have you lost track of Peter? Please don’t tell me you’ve lost track of Peter.”

Derek held up his hands to quiet all three boys who were baffled and confused and outraged and talking all at once.

“Shut up!” he shouted and all three of them fell silent.

“Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at Isaac.

Stiles made a quick introduction of Mr. Lahey’s son and Derek nodded, a certain wariness never leaving his eyes as he shook the boy’s hand.

“Where’s Peter?” asked Stiles and Derek simultaneously.

“You mean you don’t know?” asked Stiles.

“He took off - after he clobbered both my sisters.”

“Wait, you have more than one sister?”

“Laura, remember? She came home. She wasn’t even home a day and my stupid fucking uncle…” Derek heaved a sigh and Stiles put a hand to his shoulder.

“Easy, man,” said Stiles. “Your uncle is not in the Glade.”

“Good,” said Derek. “Let’s keep it that way. Tell your people to close these gates and only come back out when you hear my mother’s cry.”

“Um… No offense but-” began Scott slowly, “how will we know your mother’s cry from your uncle’s?”

“That’s true,” said Isaac, seemingly plucking up courage from nowhere to talk to the monster stood before him. “We can’t tell the difference.” He winced; his courage fading from him almost before he finished the sentence.

Derek blinked. “I never thought about it before. I guess you can’t.”

“And we can’t close the doors without some super secret squirrel committee meeting about it,” said Stiles.

“And that could take hours,” said Scott.

“Days,” added Isaac.

“That’s not going to work,” said Derek, rubbing at his beard.

“What’s going on in Rockford?” asked Isaac meekly.

“It seems to be on fire,” said Derek, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. The three boys gaped at the black smoke in the distance. “Your walls are so high that you can’t see it from the Glade.”

“Plus we just don’t normally look up,” said Stiles. He took a moment to absorb the new information and said: “We need to help them.”

“You can’t,” said Derek. “You aren’t wolf-kind and you need to stay safe.” He looked pointedly at Stiles. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“What about all the Munies?” asked Scott, desperately. “If it’s an attack, then we need to be able to get them to the Maze. They may not stay there, but it’s safer than Rockford at the moment. Can’t we evacuate people here?”

Derek looked impressed. “You’d make a hell of a pack leader, kid. Good idea. I’ll head to Rockford. Tell my family. You get back to your Glade. Tell your committee to prepare to receive refugees.”

“Let’s go!” said Scott. The three boys ran back into the Maze, Stiles giving Derek one long last glance and a smile as his feet took him home.

 

~080~

 

“You know we can help them, right?” asked Stiles as he ran back toward the Glade.

“The refugees?” asked Scott, who’s breath was coming in wheezes.

“No,” said Stiles, slowing his pace just a bit so his best friend didn’t have to struggle to keep up, “the Hales. We can go to Rockford and help with transportation of the refugees.”

“How?” asked Isaac.

They ran three abreast down the corridors of the Maze until the Glade came into view around the last turn. “We have horses. And a cart. If we push them, they could probably get us to Rockford inside of an hour.”

“That’s true,” said Scott. “But how are we supposed to get permission to go? Only Traders get to go out of the Glade.”

Stiles stopped in his tracks in the green grass of the Glade and turned to both of them. “Scotty, this is a special circumstance. This is an emergency. People need our help-”

“All the more reason to tell your dad,” said Isaac. “We need to tell them anyway.”

“Tell them what?” asked Lydia. She had come up behind Stiles and he spun and flailed with surprise.

“Lyds!”

“Hiya,” she said and then her eyes narrowed. “What are you three up to?”

“What? Us?” asked Scott, trying to sell a nonchalant air and failing miserably.

“Yes, you,” said Lydia, pointing at them all individually, “and you and you too, Stiles. What’s going on? You haven’t been going to school or doing your chores with the rest of us today and I want to know why. What are you three up to?”

Stiles looked at Isaac and Scott gravely. Scott blinked and shrugged his shoulders. Isaac’s eyes went wide with panic.

“We need your help, Lydia,” said Stiles and he told her everything.

 

~080~

 

It was the work of minutes once everyone was on board. Fortunately, the small group worked either in the barn or in the med-jack tents so the people who needed to know about the search and rescue mission would be well prepared even before the committee knew. Lydia told them that they were still sequestered in the Gathering House asked: “And when are the committee supposed to find out about all this? When everyone came back dead or burnt up or what?”

Stiles wanted the news of their departure to come from her. He knew that she would know how to break it gently to his father that he had broken the treaty yet again, albeit for a good cause. Lydia was having none of it.

“Like hell I’m staying here,” she said. “You idiots need all the help you can get.”

“So who’ll tell the committee? Who’s gonna make sure my dad doesn’t come running after us?” he asked her as he tightened the stirrup on one of the horses he planned to mount and ride.

“Don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, the longer they don’t know anything’s going on, the smoother this whole thing will go.” She took a step toward the cart and Stiles reflexively shot an arm out across her path. She glared at it as though it were a snake and looked at Stiles, anger in her eyes. “I’m going with you, Stiles Stilinski. And that’s final.” Stiles opened his mouth to object anyway, but Lydia cut him off: “If you think I need to be protected, you severely underestimate me”. She looked up at Scott who sat aboard the buckboard. “Move over. I’m driving.”

Stiles stared at her for a moment before saying sardonically: “Why don’t you drive the buckboard?”

“Thanks, boys. Not that I need your permission,” she said.

“If one strawberry-blonde hair on your head gets hurt, Lydia…” said Stiles.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “If you do anything that gets me hurt, Stiles Stilinski, I will personally see to it that you live out the rest of your days here in the Glade as a virgin.”

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded.

“And one more thing: I’ve been reading up on werewolves.”

“Reading? Reading what?” asked Stiles, thinking of the books that Deaton gave him in the jail.

Lydia shrugged. “Preacher left behind a few choice tomes. Deaton loaned me a few more. Didn’t you read what I gave you?”

Stiles blinked at her stupidly before it clicked. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off: “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, the point is: wolfsbane or monkshood - it’s a flower, mountain ash - that’d be a certain type of tree, and mistletoe - please God tell me you know what mistletoe is... They’re all toxic to werewolves. Thought you might want to know in case you run into that Peter guy.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, a bit mystified that Lydia seemed to be carrying on this much of a conversation with him. “Ok good.”

“Use the info. Don’t use it. Your call,” she said and checked the tension on the reins.

Scott came down from the buckboard to give Stiles a help up to the saddle. He glanced behind him at Lydia and said: “You sure can pick ‘em, can’t you buddy?”

“Shut up,” said Stiles. “And let’s go. Rockford’s probably a pile of ash by now.”

“You sure you don’t want your dad to come too?” asked Scott.

The horse he was mounted on swayed with the shift in weight to his back. “I’m sure,” he replied. “Besides, I can’t- I can’t lose both my parents, alright? Not both of them. Dad stays here in the Glade protecting the Gladers.”

Scott nodded in silent understanding and climbed aboard the buckboard as Lydia led out the team that pulled it. They managed not to alert the majority of the Glade with its presence rolling into the western opening, but as soon as they turned the first corner, the whole party burst into a gallop toward a danger they couldn’t have dreamed of in their worst nightmares.


	18. Chapter 18

Today was going to be a great day. Peter knew this was it. This was the big reveal. All he needed to do was to play along until he could make his final move. This was just the first step and he felt the power course through him as he transformed into the wolf and made for Rockford. Subduing his nieces was not as simple as he had hoped, what with Cora putting up the fight that she did, but the scent of fire and death was in his nostrils and his paws dug at the soft earth as he sped along through the wood. He could already hear the screams and he saw a few villagers running through the trees as he approached the village from the north.

He knew that there were a few secret doors in and out of the township and they were all being put to good use at that moment - and with good cause. He’d run too if a pack of wild beasts were set loose upon his community and the most he could do to defend himself was to shit his pants.

His plan was to enter where they exited. But before he could, he was spotted by a red-bearded man and his small family. The wife screamed and Peter’s ears went back at the shrill sound. The children were crying, the husband was shouting and waiving an ax. The noise of them all was too much. He lunged for the man’s throat as the children and mother scattered. They rejoined in a tight group as they watched their loved one’s light go out.

Peter raised his dripping muzzle to them and felt the shift inside as his inner wolf finally had his day in the sun. He eyed them hungrily and relished the thought of silencing their screams as well. Oh, yes. Today was going to be a great day.

 

~080~

 

The first thing he became aware of was the sound of screams and madness. It carried past the smell of the chaos, reminding him of the time of the war; of the time when he was fourteen and terrified that the Hunters would kill his family over something they couldn’t help. It was also the first time a girl fucked with his head, when he experienced betrayal for the first time. And when, for her own twisted reasons, she chose to change her mind. Idly he wondered if she regretted the outcome of her decisions and in the next second pushed it away as the walls of Rockford came into view.

The smell was almost overwhelming, the black plumes of smoke coming from the highly populated center of the town were choking and thick. He let out a growl; the thought of his family within that din and smoky haze made him crazy.

The outskirts of the township were fenced in, but Derek climbed the log walls easily enough, his claws digging into the wood as he perched atop for a quick survey of the trouble.

His eyes wouldn’t lead him far, the smoke cutting off visibility within fifty feet, but based on what he could hear, all was lost. The dead lay about like ragdolls, the living were running through the dense smoke, spreading it further, some of them on fire, some of them bleeding and limping, some of them carrying screaming children, all of them terrified. Derek leapt down the sixty feet to the ground, claws and fangs extended, instincts on high alert.

The acrid smoke filled his nostrils, rendering that sense practically useless. He ran headlong toward the old avenue that led to the market square. His family had occasion to frequent the market for goods and would visit usually close to dark just as everyone was closing. His mother had told him that it was only fair that the Munies get the better goods of the day as they were not wolf kind and could not as easily kill for food. This was mercy. But once Derek gained the square, he couldn’t spot the neat stalls with their wares on display. All he saw was chaos.

There were a group of men in the distance and it looked to Derek as if they were intentionally setting fires. They had torches in their hands and were sticking them into this window and against that wall as they moved along. One man looked as though he were giving the others direction. Derek heard some of his talk: “… make sure it takes well. This whole block will have to come down to box them in.”

Derek ran to them to stop them. “Hey! Put the torches down! Leave these people alone!” he shouted.

The men turned, startled. One pointed and yelled: “It’s one of them! Burn him quick before his friends join him and kill us all!”

They all lunged at them. Derek was woefully out numbered but could have easily beaten them down, but what the man had said had given him pause. He decided a tactful retreat was in order. He needed to find his pack and figure out what was going on here.

He out ran the small mob, dodging others as he ran away from the market square. He howled for his mother and heard his sister Cora weakly in the distance. He raced through the haze and heat, howling at intervals to locate her; her response came back time and again, a tad weaker with each repetition. He was wild with the need to see his family - any member of his family. He’d even take a quick sight of Peter as a relief. He rounded one corner and then the next, the main streets somewhat familiar, the lesser roads a complete mystery as he rarely went into the township except to get supplies with his mother.

He skirted between screaming survivors and a doorway into a tavern only to come up short against a cast iron frying pan aimed at his head. It caught him in the right side of the face and knocked him on his back, taking the breath from him. He blinked past the pain and as his vision came into focus, the black underside of the pan was toward him once more. He caught the pan and ripped it from the wielder’s hands with a roar. The elderly woman’s eyes widened and she turned and ran screaming, “There’s another one over here!”

“Get him!” came another voice and three different sets of footfalls came toward Derek in a hurry. He was on his feet in an instant and facing the doorway as the old woman was joined by two men, one her age, one much younger, who had clubs of mountain ash wrapped in barbed wire in their hands. Doubly confused, Derek ran down the streets in the same direction he had been heading, the firing of a shotgun shell coming from behind him, the shot giving off the tell-tale purple cloud of wolfsbane peppering the sign for a barber to his left. A shout of: “Get your wolf kind out of our town!” came from behind him. There was no second gunshot.

 

~080~

 

The horses were unused to the breakneck pace and more than once Stiles’ mount tried to throw him.

“Stop that, Gally!” he begged the horse as he held on for dear life. “Woah!” It took a minute before it calmed sufficiently to go back into a slow gallop and trail the others who had gone on. All the others, that is, except for Scott. He wasn’t about to leave his best friend to die from being thrown by a horse.

“Come on, Stiles,” said Scott once Gally had given up the fight. “We’ve got to make it to Rockford. That smoke isn’t getting any thinner.”

And it was true, of course. The small black plume Derek and Talia had spotted not hours before had become a full blown cloud, dark and roiling, wending its way into the sky like the dropped feather of a gigantic raven. Stiles scooped Scott up, pointed his mount’s nose toward it, and spurred them along as fast as they could gallop.

Within half an hour they were at the town gates, which were partially open with a few terrified villagers streaming out of it. They flagged some of them down to ask what was happening only to discover that most of them were mortally wounded. They bled openly from bites and scratches, mad with the pain of it and panicking, raving about wolves and monsters and the Flare and God’s holy hand come to strike them down for their sins and won’t you please help us?!

The Gladers had never seen such chaos. Most of them were sheltered in the Maze during the war, or moved from safehouse to safehouse during it. Stiles’ father had seen fit that his boy never be exposed to this kind of frenzy; Stiles was speechless. Every one of them seemed helpless, lost. There was no way they were equipped to help them all. He felt bad that they only had three med-jacks.

Someone was screaming his name. Scott.

“Stiles!” he shouted. “There’s something chasing them! Help us!” He was already off the mount and down with the others attempting to pull survivors through while blocking off the egress of something fairly vicious on the other side of the gates.

Stiles felt his feet plant hard on the ground. He secured Gally to the side of the cart, the horse afraid of the smell of smoke and the sound of screams. He pulled at the gigantic wooden doors against the monster inside. They couldn’t let that thing out or it would bite or kill them all.

He remembered what Peter Hale had looked like when he killed that deer: feral, horrific. The adrenaline surged inside him and he pulled with everything he had. The pressure from the other side of the door stopped and for a fleeting moment everyone looked at one another with a mixture of relief and disbelief. A second later, the door was ripped from their grasp and a gigantic form stood in their midst.

Stiles had only ever seen one werewolf in full form before, but even he knew that what or who faced them was not Peter Hale. This was a stranger. Its fur tawny, a scar across its face, it stood a full ten feet in the air on its hind legs. But it wasn’t its blood-tipped claws or its scarlet-speckled muzzle that Stiles feared most. What Stiles feared the most was that its eyes were red - the red of an Alpha.

“We need to leave NOW!” shouted Stiles, but his warning was unnecessary. The others were already trying to get what few survivors they could into the cart and down the road. In the confusion, Lydia took the buckboard, Isaac beside her as one of the med-jacks loaded everyone and himself into the back. Scott untied Stiles’ horse and threw Stiles the reins.

“Come on, Stiles! This is no time to try to find another furry boyfriend!” shouted Scott as he pulled at the cart team’s heads to swing the cart away from the village.

The buckboard would take a bit to turn about and Stiles mounted as quickly as he could to put himself between the retreating wagon and the monster who still stood in the gateway evaluating the situation. Stiles reared his horse in front of the creature, feeling a moment of elation when the werewolf stepped back a pace. The joy was short-lived, however, as the beast let out an enormous roar and bared its fangs. Stiles risked a glance behind him to check the progress of the wagon and seeing that they were in full retreat, he turned back to the monster with a smug smile on his face.

“See ya!” he called to it.

“Run, rabbit,” it growled. “I love a good chase.”

Stiles could feel his bladder leak a little and he took off like a shot after his friends, Gally suddenly willing to run at lightspeed without complaint.

 

~080~

 

The scent of fear was intoxicating. Deucalion breathed it in and his inner wolf rejoiced. The town was in chaos, people running everywhere and screaming, the scent of smoke and blood in the air. He bit as many of them as he could, thrilling at the taste of the Munie’s blood, at the pliant flesh beneath his fangs.

It was a simple thing to enter the township as a human, spread out his pack, and signal for the attack with one long howl. He shut the town gates behind them himself, boxing in all the lovely humans. At first, they didn’t know what to do. It was understandable. The wolves that lived the closest were harmless to them. As a result, all the townspeople had become complacent, docile, trusting. It was far too easy to simply seal the gates and wait for the oncoming tide of those that chose to flee. There was only the main gate that served as egress and ingress to the township, unless other townsfolk had managed to create other manners of passageways without the township’s official say-so. Deucalion was certain that a few of the more paranoid villagers would have created a few of these and that they would avail themselves of them once the madness began. He was okay with losing those few. They wouldn’t come back to much if they chose to return at all.

Soon there were buildings on fire. It was a mild inconvenience at best, but the citizens’ efforts to delay their progress in the town by strategic burnings was awfully cute. They must have read somewhere that wolf-kind don’t care for fire. Or perhaps they remember the war. Whatever the case, it had the opposite effect: people came pouring out of their homes and headed straight for the main gate where Deucalion’s pack stood waiting to snap them up. Even when the numbers became overwhelming for his few dedicated Betas, there were still enough of his pack to funnel them toward their Alpha. The healthiest and heartiest would come that way; the ones who made it past his wolves unscathed or strong enough to travel wounded. Those were the ones most deserving of the Change and Deucalion granted it to them.

One by one, he bit and tore and rent. The sound of chaos only drove him on. He was a wild thing, unleashed for the first time in years and he thrilled at the scents of acrid smoke, fear, sweat, and the sharp tang of new blood.

And the beauty was: he didn’t even have to hunt them down. They came blindly to him right out of the smoke created by their own people and he took them in his arms and gave them their last greatest kiss. He and his pack ripped the throats out of the old, the infirm who were sheltered by the strong, and the young, tearing them from their mother’s breasts and dashing their heads against the ground. But the others he bit, knowing that they would run away after, but find themselves dizzy from the blood loss and not get far. He would scent them later and take them in, the bite would do the rest.

In three days he would have an army. In a month, a community. He would be unstoppable and only Talia Hale stood in his way.

And apparently, some brave Glader whelps.

He turned to find that they had taken control of the gates, ushering out only certain townsfolk who were unbitten or well enough to travel. He turned and confronted them, pushing himself against the gate to get their attention, then pulling against the doors to find that they were being held fast by at least six of them. He howled his frustration and turned to bite three more before going back to the doors and hurling them wide open.

A lone figure stood before him. The boy’s amber eyes were wide with fear as more survivors ran past him. There were horses and a cart and another boy leading the cart horse who was calling to the boy who stood before him and tossing him the reins to another horse.

Of all the things Deucalion expected, an impromptu rescue party wasn’t it. He stood amazed long enough for the boy to mount his horse and send it rearing in his direction. He backed off mostly out of shock, but recovered with a snarling howl at them all.

“See ya,” called the boy.

Deucalion saw red. “Run, rabbit,” he called back. “I love a good chase.”

As soon as the horse and cart were out of sight along the road, he dove into the wood, off the beaten path, and gave chase.

 

~080~

 

“Get everyone out! Let us handle this!” Talia shouted to the panic-stricken crowd on the square in front of their town hall. There were only a few homes aflame when she arrived and there were soon to be more. There were two teams of men with torches going down the streets, hoping to fence in the wolf-kind that were attacking their village. Talia saw the destruction as highly unnecessary, but it seemed as if this emergency contingent was in place long before the attack began - probably since the last war.

As for the wolf-kind she found there, they seemed to be enjoying the chaos. Carts were upset, signs ripped down, the elderly pushed to the the ground, women and children huddled and screaming. Talia took it all in and roared in response. There were two Betas harassing the citizens and they froze in place at her call.

“You have no right to do this! These are peace-loving Munies. They mean us no harm!” she shouted to them.

The two wolves chuckled and glanced at each other from their vantage points on the town hall square.

“Clear out!” she shouted again. No one moved.

“This is none of your concern, Hale,” said one, a woman whose claws extended from her hands and bare feet.

“This township is under my family’s protection. All these people are my concern,” Talia responded, flashing red eyes at the stranger.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been relieved of your responsibility,” said the other, a great hulking man with a fierce look.

Talia didn’t bother with an answer. She simply growled at them and attempted to shift. Before she could complete the transformation, she was blind-sided from behind. Thrown and disoriented, she finished the shift in mid-air before landing with a thud against the thick wooden sides of a fruit seller’s cart opposite the town hall. Apples, pears, and pumpkins fell around her as she attempted to get back on her feet to address her attacker. But her head hadn’t the chance to clear before she knew who it was.

“Sweet sister,” said Peter. “Did you think you could really save them all?”

She went for his throat but the behemoth to her left and the female behind him were upon her before she could reach him. Soon she was at bay in a corner, trapped between the meeting points of two buildings and her three aggressors: the woman, the man, and her own brother.

“Peter,” she managed through her muzzle and teeth, “stop this.”

“You always did want to ruin my fun,” said Peter. He flashed his blue wolf eyes at her and thrilled at her look of horror. “Not today.”

They hedged her in on all sides and lunged at her simultaneously as the city burned and screamed around them.

 

~080~

 

“Burn him quick before his friends join him…”

“There’s another one over here…”

Derek mulled over the words the man and woman had shouted for a moment before howling again for his sister and running off for her. She sounded weaker than ever before.

He finally found her. He could hear her heartbeat, a rapid rhythm; something was wrong. She was whispering his name from inside a burning homestead. He forced his way in, flames licking at him on all sides when he spotted her trapped under some fallen debris. Bleeding from her head and hands, she cried for him pathetically, reaching toward him. He made his way to her, dodging flaming debris as the roof lost its integrity, risking trapping them both.

“Them first, Der,” she said, pointing toward two small children huddling under a series of shelves that hadn’t been touched by the flames yet.

Derek paused for just a moment, then snatched up the kids and raced out of the house toward the opposite side of the small street, through an alley, and dropped them off on the far side, well out of the way of the burning building. To their credit, the kids didn’t make a sound even though they stared at his ears, fangs, and claws with widened eyes. He attracted the attention of a woman running along and shouted at her: “Take them!” The woman hesitated only a moment before she took the children by the hand and led them off. Derek hoped he had done the right thing.

Racing back into the house, he dragged his sister out just as the roof gave way. He snatched her up and put on a burst of speed, running all the way through to the back side of the home into a small fenced-off lot. He threw her over his shoulder and leapt the fence in time for the remainder of the roof to collapse forcing a wall of heat to follow in its wake. Derek threw himself over his injured sister, feeling the inferno at his back seep through his clothing and sear his skin.

Cora looked into Derek’s eyes, desperate, terrified, longing for safety and warmth and family. “Uncle Peter is with Deucalion. It’s Deucalion’s pack that’s doing this. They’re frightening, Der. All Alphas… or former Alphas… I think. I don’t know. But they’re formidable. And I can’t find Laura. And I can’t find mom.” She began to sob in his arms. “And I don’t know what to do. Derek, please. I want to go home.”

“Gladers are coming,” said Derek. “They’re going to help.”

“What? How? They’re humans with sticks. Besides,” she said looking at the chaos around them, “they’ll be too late. We have to go.”

“You’re right. They won’t stand a chance against wolves,” said Derek with sad realization. “They’re walking right into a trap.” His face lit up with horror. “They’re leaving the Maze and they’re sitting ducks in the wood. SHIT!”

He lifted her up easily and ran for the point of his own entry into Rockford. Navigating in the smoke was no easier while carrying someone and he had no idea where anything was until his blind stumbling and near-dead reckoning got him to the marketplace, most people ignoring him as he went past. This was the one place he knew relatively well. He turned in the appropriate direction and found himself face to face with two twin males, human in appearance save for their glowing eyes.

“Out of our way!” shouted Derek.

The boys smirked at him and then each other. And then they combined; they simply melded into one another to become a single werewolf, huge, hulking, vicious.

“Oh great,” said Derek, suddenly exhausted.

“I- I can help you,” said Cora. “I’m feeling better.” She wriggled out of his arms and stood unsteadily on the ground. The gigantic werewolf let out a dual huff of laughter at the sight of her.

“Fuck you,” she spat. “I’m tougher than both of you and him,” indicating Derek with a nod of her head.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “I’d run if I were you. She once made our mother cry.”

The twins roared their impatience and Derek leaped at them, it, whatever… Derek didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was he was being provided with something to hit, to bury his fists and claws into, to rip apart, for his mother, his sisters, and for every Hale that ever was.

The twins intended to swat him away, but he got in under their outstretched arm and clawed at their ribs over and over, digging in, and causing them to back away in pain. Cora was on their back in the blink of an eye, biting and clawing, tearing their attention from Derek as surely as she was tearing at their flesh. They howled in frustration, pulling at one and swatting at the other, unable to focus on both at once and unable to break free.

Out of the smoke that surrounded them came a low growl. Derek turned at the sound, wary of a second challenger, and in his moment of distraction, the twins connected with a powerful blow to his back that sent him sprawling. He landed at the feet of another wolf and he knew him in an instant: Peter.

Peter’s eyes pierced through the glare, his teeth a suggestion of death in the black cloud of smoke that enveloped him. Derek felt the rage in him rise and a fleeting image of Stiles ran across his mind just before he leapt at the throat of his uncle, the killer.

They had fought together before but those were mere sparring matches, the kind a loving uncle would have with his nephew to teach him a thing or two about self-defense; now Derek was far beyond the playground.

They grappled and bit, slashed and tore, flesh rent and healing almost as quickly as the next fresh wound could be opened. Even though Peter had the advantage of age, he was fairly evenly matched for power by Derek as the younger man’s anger fueled a holocaust of outrage and pulsed throughout his body, setting his feet to a solid stance and his hands to a blur of motion. Soon, Peter was beaten back against the side of a building that had not yet been licked by the flames that surrounded them.

Derek heard nothing, saw nothing, save the devil before him. That his own uncle would actually take steps against his family was unthinkable and his anger was doubled with the pain of betrayal. He howled his rage as he bit and clawed again, willing his uncle dead before him time and time and time again.

“Derek!” screamed a voice. Cora. It occurred to Derek that he had deserted her with the other beast. His anger dissipated with the thought and he blindly turned away from Peter to rejoin his sister.

“Derek!” she called to him in the murky haze. “Derek,” she said again as she caught a glimpse of him. “The twins took off. Don’t know why.” She had a shiner forming on her cheek and he grazed his knuckle against it. She pulled away, flinching. “Ow! Cut it out. Who was the other wolf?”

“Peter,” said Derek with no small amount of disgust.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me? He’s helping them kill people?”

“It seems so,” said Derek, taking in their surroundings. “And we need to go. We need to get the Gladers to turn back. Now.”

“What about mom? And Laura?”

“They’re able to defend themselves for now. We’ll come back,” said Derek. “We’ve got those innocent villagers to look out for and the Gladers to protect. We need to find the western road and get on it, cover their backs.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Derek, slightly exasperated at his sister’s apathy, “it’s what mom would want us to do.”

Cora nodded to him reluctantly. “Let’s go.”

They made for the entry point at the wall and clambered over to the cleaner air of the woods hoping that they would be in time.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mention of rape, depiction of bloody wounds

She found herself in a cage in no time flat. She could smell the rust on the bars and she whined in the back of her throat. Her right foreleg was injured again and she couldn’t see very well because of the blood, caked and drying in her matted fur from a cut above her right eye. The cage rocked. They were moving.

Her ears and nose picked up what they could from her position: four sets of heartbeats, four different scents, all wolves, and only one of them familiar.

“Mom?” She hazarded the question with as clear a voice she could manage past her muzzle.

“Laura,” said her mother. Her voice was closer than she had expected. “Stay in wolf form, sweetie. You’ll heal faster.”

“Can’t talk to you like this,” she responded, relief flooding her system.

“Then don’t talk,” said a fierce female voice. “Both of you, shut up.”

“Where are you taking us?” demanded Laura.

“Someplace away from your precious township,” said the woman, her dark eyes flashed with wickedness. “So enjoy the ride. It’ll be the last time you experience anything close to comfort for the rest of your life.”

An hour later, they were still winding their way north. Laura felt strong enough to try and talk to her mother again. She crawled along the rough wood floor of her cage to the other cage where her mother lay, seemingly sleeping. The bounce of the cart they were traveling in was enough to remind her of her injuries. They were better than before, but by no means healed. She stifled a whimper as she moved her muzzle closer to her mother’s head.

“Mom,” she breathed.

“Shh…” said Talia.

“Mom, why has this happened? Who are they?”

“This is your uncle’s doing,” said Talia.

“Uncle Peter?”

“He has betrayed us, his family, his pack,” said Talia. “And now he’s sealed our fate. Hunters will come and there will be war.”

Laura set her throbbing head down and thought about her mother’s words. She had thought that Sacramento was a terrible place, but the organized chaos of the city seemed like a fairy tale compared to the woods of Beacon Hills. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to sleep. Whatever happened next, she had to prepare to either fight for life or die with dignity.

 

~080~

 

They took the cart at breakneck speed through the woods, Stiles pulling up the rear. And Stiles couldn’t be certain, but he could have sworn that something was chasing them.

He’d catch something out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked, it was gone. The horses sensed it too, Gally’s pace was terrifyingly fast; Stiles was afraid the animal would run itself to exhaustion and collapse from underneath him. Every jerk of its body was another experience in cardiac arrest for him as he clung to the saddle and practically hugged the beast’s neck for dear life.

The cart hit a rut hard and one of the refugees bounced out and hit the road. Stiles had just enough time to steer Gally around the body when he passed the woman up. She lay motionless and Stiles heard a child in the cart scream “Mommy!” and his heart went into his throat. Isaac held the boy back, both of their eyes filled with terror as the wagon moved away swiftly.

Stiles managed to circle Gally back. Upon reaching her, he leapt from the saddle, holding the reins so Gally wouldn’t bolt. The woman was face down and Stiles saw a huge patch of blood along her back, soaking through her homespun shirt. The woman was barely breathing. As soon as Stiles touched her, she cried out and startled him, causing him to stumble and back away.

Distantly, Stiles heard the child cry again for his mother, coupled with more cries coming from the direction where the wagon disappeared. There was no time to dwell on it as Stiles’ eyes locked with that of the distressed woman.

“It bit me!” she cried as she rolled over and attempted to cover her wound with a filthy hand. “It bit me! I’m going to die!”

“No, you’re not,” said Stiles. “Come on! Get up! Take the horse. I’ll run. Go!” He attempted to grab the woman by her shirttail but she slipped away from him backward, the shirt moving up her back, exposing the wound. It was clearly a very large bite of a very dangerous animal.

“You see it?” the woman screamed.

“Yeah,” said Stiles and he knew. He knew that this woman was either a changeling or she was dead. He knew it had been the Alpha at the gate who had bitten her. He knew this and he saw his own mother’s eyes as she kissed him for the last time. He also saw that little boy lose his mother forever, just as he did. He couldn’t do this alone.

Derek!” he screamed. No one answered him. All he heard were the cries of birds in the surrounding trees and the whimpering of the woman before him. All that came to his senses were the acrid smell of smoke and the rich scent of the earth.

His heart ached for this terrified woman and her son and he could hear his voice breaking when he said: “Just hold on. Just- Just try. For your son. Please.”

“Get away from me!” she screamed and she threw a stone at him. He ducked it easily, reaching for her again.

“Derek!” he tried again. Then to her he said: “We’ve got to go.” He begged her. “We’ve got to get to the Maze. Please.”

The screams of the village were distant in his ears. The trees above them whispered rustling secrets to one another, the chattering birds adding to the din. He felt his heartbeat in his every limb. His eyes never left her panic-stricken face. His mouth never stopped begging her: “please”. They were both rooted to the spot, neither one willing to give the other an inch.

“Well,” said a voice, “isn’t this a pretty scene.”

Stiles spun and Gally reared up behind him. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is unimportant,” said the man, “but I think you’d better leave her to me.”

“Oh yeah?” challenged Stiles. “And why should I do that?”

“Because she’s one of mine now,” he smiled, his eyes blood red.

“You’re the Alpha from the village gate,” said Stiles in awe and he backed away taking Gally with him.

“A man of intelligence,” said Deucalion.

“You stay away from her!” he said.

Deucalion chuckled. “Do you honestly think I’m afraid of you? What are you going to do? Riddle me with silver bullets? Beat me with mountain ash? Poison me with mistletoe?” He stalked closer to the woman but never took his eye off of Stiles. “Besides, she needs me more than she needs you. She’s mine. She’ll be pack.” He knelt at her side and looked at her. “She’ll be loved and cared for and taught the ways of wolf-kind.”

“And if she catches the Flare?” asked Stiles. He was riveted to the spot, tightly hanging onto Gally’s reins as he watched the werewolf trace a finger along the woman’s jawline. She trembled with fear but said nothing.

“Then it would be better to leave her to us anyway, wouldn’t it? At the first sign, we could save her from a fate worse than death.”

“What if she doesn’t want to die that way?” asked Stiles. “What if she has a family?” He looked at the woman desperately. “What about your son? Are you just going to leave him?”

She looked back at him incredulous. “If I’m a wolf now, then he’s better off without me. If I’m dying of the Flare…” She shrugged and wept.

Deucalion regarded him with surprise. “My dear boy, I gave you too much credit for intelligence earlier. Don’t you know that anything is better than catching the Flare?”

“P-please,” begged the woman to Deucalion. “Please don’t let me die.”

“Come with me, my dear,” said Deucalion. “I’ll take you north with my pack and you can live with us. Come with me and I’ll take care of you.”

The woman’s eyes darted from the wolf to the boy and back. Stiles could offer her nothing. She was bitten. If she changed, he couldn’t handle her; if she went mad, he wouldn’t have the heart to kill her. The only thing the Glader committee would do would be to vote her condemned to the Maze or cast her out entirely. He lowered his eyes away from hers and stood trembling.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked him.

Deucalion considered the question for a moment. “I think… I think I’ll let you live, boy.”

“Why?” Stiles could feel a hot tear of relief move down his cheek.

“Because I have this one to look after now… and because I think I’ve done enough to your friends up the road.” He scooped the woman into his arms, smiled cruelly at him, and disappeared into the wood as quickly as if he never existed. “Good luck saving them.”

Stiles stood there alone, Gally nickering at his side. He let the reins slip from his hand and the horse walked to the road’s edge and nibbled at the grasses there. Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from the place where the werewolf had disappeared with the woman.

He wanted to release the rage he felt, but the pressure of it was too much to bear. His body went numb and he fell to his knees in the road.

“Derek,” he croaked, “you said you’d help us. You said you’d help us and you lied. Where the hell are you? Are you dead? If you’re not, you sure as shit let me down, you bastard. If you are…” His eyes found the blue sky above the branches of the trees. The clouds that moved past him reminded him of his insignificance. “Please don’t be dead.”

A scream went up to the east of him, shaking him from his misery. That werewolf hurt his friends. He had to get back to them.

 

~080~

 

Scott stood up and looked around. His side burned with the bite from the monster that came out of the wood, but he ignored it in favor of helping those around him. He helped Isaac to his feet. He was bleeding from a bite to his shoulder and winced with the pain. Once the boy’s good arm was about his shoulders he looked over at Lydia. She was pressing a hand to herself, blood seeping into her clothing from beneath. One of the village women screamed until someone else held her close to them, soothing her.

“Hey!” Scott shouted, “Somebody help Lydia. Help her get the buckboard back on the road.” Others helped, but they were bit as well, yet they gathered the reins dutifully and pulled at the nervous horses with a few muttered curses.

Lydia didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. The look of fear in her eyes said it all. But when she slowly recovered and took hold of the reins once more, Scott gave her a proud smile.

“Everyone who can, get on the cart!” he shouted. “Where’s Stiles?”

“He fell behind when the kid’s mother fell off,” said Isaac.

Scott nodded. He looked Isaac up and down. “You okay?”

Isaac tested his legs and found them solid underneath him. With a nod to Scott, they assisted Lydia in guiding the two horses to the road once more. Of the few remaining villagers that remained, they helped load up both the dead and the living onto the cart with the boys.

Soon there were more hoofbeats coming at them from the direction of Rockford.

Scott looked up, concern lining his face. “Stiles! You okay, man? Did it get you too?”

“No,” said Stiles. Scott took a good look at his best friend. Stiles was more miserable than Scott had ever seen him.

“No you’re not okay, or no it didn’t get you?” asked Isaac who helped the little boy back onto the wagon. He seemed unhurt.

The child looked hopefully at him. “Where’s my mom?”

Stiles dismounted and walked to him. “I’m sorry, little guy,” he managed. “She’s gone.”

“That monster got her?”

Stiles debated whether or not to tell the boy that his mother was dead. What would he have needed to hear if it were his younger self sitting before him? He said: “Yeah. She’s alive for now, but she might die. She might become a werewolf. I don’t know. But she’s in the best place she can be, considering.”

“Why did you let the monster take her?” he demanded, his small hands reaching for Stiles’ shirt. “Why didn’t you fight?”

Isaac pulled the boy away as best he could, but the kid wriggled out of his grasp and attacked Stiles with fists, screaming: “You killed my mom! You let her get taken! How could you do that? She was my mom! She was MY MOM!”

Stiles held the boy’s arms by the wrists easily and he soon crumbled into tears, defeated. He knelt and held the boy to him fast, thinking of his own mother and the face he last saw: smiling and sad at the same time.

The others watched this scene in silence a moment before Lydia cleared her throat and stated softly: “I think we’d better go.” She nodded up the road at a few stragglers who had survived the burning of the town and were headed toward the safety of the Maze as if by instinct. Lydia’s meaning was clear: there were more people to worry about than just the little boy.

Stiles carried the boy to the wagon, handing him over to Isaac, remounted Gally and they all made their way back to the Maze with the survivors following.

The road back from Rockford was quiet. Footsteps, hoofbeats, and the sound of the cart wheels against the road joined the ambient noise of the forest that surrounded them. Had they all not just been through the worst experience of their lives, they might have noticed the beautiful day, the soft breeze, and the call of birds. The juxtaposition between the calm beauty and the haggard survivors was jarring at best. Each person was lost in their own thoughts. Many wept, including the boy and Stiles, each for a mother they would never see again. And Stiles, too, for Derek. He hoped he wasn’t lost forever.

Finally, in the full light of midday, they came to the entrance of the Maze’s western gate.

A lone figure stood at the entrance. Derek Hale. Stiles felt a flood of feelings hit his system: surprise, gratitude, relief, love, excitement… but ultimately, his body settled on anger. Derek had promised protection. He had promised help. And this is where they find him: standing at the gate like a dog waiting for its master’s return?

“Are you alright?” Derek asked.

Stiles turned to Scott. He saw the dark mood behind Stiles’ eyes and spoke first: “We’ll head to the Glade. Get help. Rockford’s going to need more than just us.”

Stiles nodded to him and watched as they moved into the Maze before he turned to Derek.

He wanted to be diplomatic. He really did. But when he spoke, all his nerves and worry and shock and horror were summed up in a harsh question: “Where the hell have you been?” He glared down at him from atop his mount.

“Saving my sister from a burning building and a wolf attack,” said Derek. “It was absolute insanity in there and-”

“Your sister? She’s wolf-kind too, isn’t she? What happened to you helping us? You know, the humans? And who was that wolf at the front gate anyway? He wasn’t part of your pack.”

“I don’t know who you mean,” said Derek, “but I can tell you that my uncle was party to all of it. He’s turned on his family, his pack-”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” huffed Stiles.

“My mother and older sister are missing.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, momentarily stopped in his angry tirade. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

Derek glared at him, his eyes an angry gold. “I met twins who are wolf-kind. I’m guessing that my uncle is in league with the Alpha, Deucalion.”

“So that was his name,” said Stiles.

“You met him?”

“Yeah, like I said: the one at the gate,” said Stiles and told him of his encounter, his anger rebuilding again.

“Then they were taken north,” said Derek, more to himself than Stiles. His glance flicked back to the boy. “He didn’t try to bite you?” he asked.

“No,” said Stiles, “he seemed happier to let me find my friends and innocent people from Rockford bitten or dead. Is this what your uncle wanted? Start with Rockford and end with the rats in the Maze? Was this just a preview of what’s to come? What the hell does all this mean?”

“I don’t know, Stiles.”

“Fantastic,” said Stiles, “meanwhile, my best friend has a bite in his side, my other friends are either bitten or injured or freaked the fuck out and here you stand looking relatively unscathed. Sure. That’s fair.”

“Hey,” said Derek, “if you don’t want my help or protection-”

“That’s just it, Der,” said Stiles, his anger rising even further. “I don’t see you really doing a whole hell of a lot of helping or protecting here - unless its your own kind. Why don’t you go find Peter? Headed north, you said? Maybe he’s got a position open in his new pack. Sounds like he may be in need of a lapdog.”

“Stiles-”

“Tell him I hope the Hunters - you know, the ones that are definitely coming - rip him a new one for me.” He turned his mount and made his way into the Maze, angry and alone.

It broke his heart to be so cruel to Derek, but he had abandoned them. The truth of the situation hurt more than anything and Stiles saw his dreams of an accord between wolf-kind and human-kind fade farther into the distance with every clap of his horse’s hooves against the stone of the Maze.

 

~080~

 

 

Derek watched him go, helpless to stop him. Stiles was right: he was totally ineffective in helping any of those people. He turned back toward Rockford, the smoke dwindling now as the flames died down of their own accord. He looked off in the direction of his house where he knew Cora was resting but restless. She had collapsed just a half a mile outside the walls of Rockford and he had made the executive decision that she should go home. But he knew, if given half a chance, she would shift and go after whatever trace of scent she could pick up of Talia and Laura that surrounded Rockford - not that much would remain with the smell of smoke and pain that was rolling off of the walls of the township. But she was hot-headed enough to try. And Hunters were definitely coming? Surely that was an exaggeration on Stiles’ part, something said in anger, but it was hard to be sure.

He stood in the shadow of the western gate without a guiding light for the first time in his life. He couldn’t even think of what his mother would do. He bowed his head and covered it with his hands, tears welling in his eyes.

“Now, now, nephew-”

And that’s as far as Peter got before Derek shifted and leapt for his throat, slamming him against an elm. “You will tell me why you’ve done this!”

Peter pushed him and the two tumbled into the brush, leaves crunching, teeth gnashing. Peter, though injured, proved the stronger and pinned his nephew to the ground, growling at him: “Derek! Don’t you see? It’s the way we survive! You have no idea what a good Alpha I can be, Derek. Join me in this! You have it in with that one boy. You can get me in. They trust you.”

“Fuck you, Peter,” spat Derek. He struggled against his uncle’s firm grasp.

“It’s that boy, isn’t it? He got to you?” Peter looked at his nephew, confusion in his expression. “My god… you like him? No. You’re in love?”

Derek struggled against his uncle again at the words, throwing him off and smacking him up against a tree sideways. Peter crumpled at the root and looked up smiling.

“No. Not in love. Not yet. But you’re getting there,” Peter said, sitting up slowly, cradling his side. “All the more reason to help me, Derek. I won’t touch the boy. He’ll be all yours to do as you like. But everyone else…” Peter shrugged. “To do this, I need an army. I need the Maze. Help me and we’ll rule it in safety inside the walls with a legion of wolf-kind. Everyone working together, rebuilding our society brick by brick.”

“What the fuck did you do with my mother and Laura?” roared Derek.

“They’re safe,” said Peter. “For now. Look, why do you even care? We were stagnant with your mother as Alpha. I can move us toward the future! Increase our numbers! Make our pack strong! Why is that such a bad idea?”

“It’s not the most peaceful option, Peter,” said Derek. “Or do you not remember the howling screams of all the innocent townspeople you helped kill and maim today? Granting the bite to someone is sacred. It’s a gift. It shouldn’t be used as a form of genocide.”

“Geno-” stuttered Peter. “Genocide? Who the hell called it genocide? I’m offering a better life for all with the bite! Immunity from all diseases, not just the Flare. Faster running, faster climbing, longer lifespan- I think.” He shrugged. “It’s a win-win.”

“Except for those who never wanted to be wolf-kind and who were happy in their lives as they were,” countered Derek. “And what about those that don’t survive the bite? How long before they succumb to the Flare?”

“Those that catch the Flare will be ushered from this world in a much more humane way than the Munies already have. A clean death. Little pain and suffering. Why can’t you see that this is the better option for all concerned?”

“So it’s genocide for some, rape for others, and you call it salvation.” Derek shook his head. “You’re insane.”

“What are you going to do about it now anyway?” asked Peter, getting up and dusting himself off. “Gonna run crying to some Hunters? The closest ones are the Argents and we all know how you feel about them. Especially the pretty girl… what was her name?”

“Kate,” said Derek. He bored holes into his uncle’s head with his stare and somewhere in the back of his mind he thrilled at the thought of Kate placing a boot to Peter’s neck.

“Kate. That’s right. Lovely Kate,” said Peter. “Say, why don’t you head north past the ghost town until you get to their camp? It’s a couple of hour’s travel coupled with several days of negotiations, but I’m sure you’ll make it back to find mommy and sis, free them, and to arrive back here just in time for everything to be over. Good luck.”

Derek was tempted to share what Stiles had already told him, that Hunters had already been summoned, but something inside of him told him to keep quiet. “I will find them, Peter,” he told him. “I will find my mother and my sister and you will pay for your crimes against Rockford, the Gladers, and our family.”

“Ooh! A threat and a promise,” said Peter, walking away into the wood. “My cup runneth over.”

Derek watched him go, feeling just as impotent as ever. He put his hands to his face and breathed out and in, inhaling sharply and getting a strong hit of Peter’s scent. He picked up his head and bolted for the Hale house. Cora and he may not be able to track Laura or Talia, but where they were headed, Peter was headed also. And they both knew his stench anywhere.


	20. Chapter 20

“Quick! Come help!” cried Lydia to those Gladers she saw. They dropped their work and ran to the western opening. As they approached, she jumped from the buckboard and landed awkwardly, limping to walk away.

Scott came to her and pulled her close. “Lydia?”

“Bastard bit me in the side,” she said, softly. “It’s just a nick though. I don’t think he got me properly. I think I’ll be okay.”

“You will. We all will,” said Scott as Isaac made his way over.

“I won’t,” said Isaac. “I’m bit and if my dad finds out, I’m dead. There’s no way he’d hesitate to put me down.”

Scott and Lydia looked at Isaac, Scott in a state of horror at his words, Lydia quietly recognizing the truth of his statement.

Isaac attempted to shrug it off. “But hey, if I live through this, at least I’ll be able to kick his ass.”

Scott gave him a small grin and Lydia couldn’t hide her smirk.

Scott decided to refocus. “Where is the committee?”

They looked around toward the Gathering House. “Looks like they haven’t budged,” said Lydia. “But since we’re back and we’ve got all these Rockford people with us… She trailed off, her glance coming across all the dead that were piled on the wagon. “They can’t ignore…” she whispered, “… what’s going on.”

Isaac spoke up. “We need help. How can we get some clean shirts and bandages?”

“Yeah,” added Scott, “my mom’ll kill me if she thinks I got hurt.”

“Of course,” said Lydia. “Everything’s all set in the barn. I did it before we left. Clean bandages and shirts for the survivors we were supposed to sneak back in. But this…” She waved a hand at the wagon and its macabre payload. “We don’t need bandages. We need coffins.”

“Come on, Lydia,” said Scott. “Let’s get patched up and we can help the others that did survive. Please?”

Absently she nodded and followed the boys to the barn where they took full measure of the punishment they’d received at the hands of a monster.

Minutes later, Stiles came into the barn with Gally. “Here you guys are!”

“Yeah man,” said Scott, wincing as he rose from a hay bale. “What did Derek have to say?”

“Nothing good,” said Stiles. His mind flickered to Derek’s look of anguish as Derek had told him of his missing sister and mother. He told the others of their exchange. “I guess that was a clunk thing to say, but I’m just so… angry at him. He said he’d help and he didn’t.”

“Damn,” said Scott. “But it’s understandable considering he’s just lost his mom and sister.”

There was a moment of silence between them all.

“What happens when a pack loses its Alpha?” asked Scott.

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. From everything Derek’s said, Alphas are in charge. They call all the shots. He didn’t say anything about what happens when they’re kidnapped. But…”

“But what?” asked Isaac.

“But their power can be taken from them,” said Lydia. She looked from face to face, trying to find the words her brain had already worked out. “If the Hale Alpha has her status taken from her, I think we all know the wolf who wants it the most.”

“Peter Hale,” said Stiles.

Lydia nodded. “But that’s not the worst part.”

“If Peter becomes the Alpha,” said Scott slowly, “then he’ll come for the Maze.”

“Bingo.”

Stiles wanted to cry. His friends were hurt, possibly dying all around him. His father was going to kill him for putting himself in such danger and breaking the treaty again. He had been spotted by the other Alpha from the north. The last words he spoke to Derek Hale were malevolent and scathing. And Peter Hale would most surely kill him within days. This was the worst day of his life and it was only going to get darker.

 

~080~

 

“I just had a horrifying thought,” whispered Isaac as they sat huddled in the gigantic tent out in the deadheads.

“Fantastic, you know because we haven’t had enough of those lately,” quipped Stiles. He lay on his stomach, arms crossed under his chin as he listened to his friends’ rough breathing. Their heads were positioned along his left side as they lay three across the width of the tent with Stiles at the top and he could hear them all clearly, even if they were shrouded in darkness in the tent.

It took some doing to hide their wounds, nevermind convince Lahey to let Isaac join them, but with Melissa McCalls’ endorsement (and one cold hard stare into his poker face) she saw to it that her brave and yet completely insane son and his equally brave and insane friends could go into the woods for a camping trip of sorts. “If only to help you get past this nightmare of a morning, you poor sweet kids,” she had said.

So with a tent for four, two lanterns and several blankets and pillows, two boys and a girl waited to see if they lived or died from the wounds they had suffered in the Wolf Wood that afternoon. The fact that they were able to keep the pain and blood a secret was a miracle; now they prayed they would be granted a second.

“If I live,” said Isaac, “if we all live through this and become wolves, will we turn on the other Gladers?”

“What do you mean?” asked Scott.

“Full moon is tomorrow night,” said Lydia softly from somewhere at Stiles’ feet.

“Normally I’d say that Derek and his family would help you guys,” said Stiles, “and normally they would. But now? The way things are?”

Scott looked up at Stiles whose head was next to his in the tent. “I would never turn on you, dude. It’d take an act of God.”

“It’s cool, man,” said Stiles. “I know. Friends forever.” He gave Scott a weak grin in the darkness. He couldn’t lose him. Not Scott. Not to wolves or to death. He would do something, find a way.

Suddenly, Stiles had a thought: “Derek did tell me about a great way to concentrate to help control the change. His family uses this symbol of three swirls attached to one another called a triskelion and a mantra: ‘Alpha, Beta, Omega.’ You’re supposed to repeat it over and over and… I don’t know, use it as some kind of an anchor? Just concentrate on your body and what it’s trying to do, I guess? Other than that, I have no idea how to help you guys.”

“If I lose it and go crazy,” said Lydia, her voice a whisper. “First thing I’m going to do is rip Isaac’s father’s throat out.”

“Why?” asked Scott.

“Where others see, I observe. That’s all I’m saying.”

Isaac was silent in the stillness of the tent.

“Let’s all get some rest, yeah?” said Stiles, noting the mood had gone tense. Without thinking, he added: “See you in the morning.”

“Said the guy who’s definitely going to live,” said Isaac.

“Hey,” said Scott in soft reprimand.

“No, man,” said Stiles, “he’s right. Sorry guys. I hope you see me in the morning too. I really do.”

He rolled away from his friends and tried to choke back the tears that were streaming down his face. His helplessness gave way to a single thought: Derek, I’m so sorry…but where were you? We needed you, then and now and you’re nowhere.

Guilt flooded him as he realized the selfishness of his thoughts and he softly drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep.

 

~080~

 

Derek’s eyes found him in the dark. They were humbled, sad. Stiles stood over him. At least, he must have been standing over him because Derek was so small to him. The werewolf was looking up at him as he was when Stiles was astride Gally in front of the western gate. Stiles could see Derek holding his hands up to him in supplication. They were wet and slick with something. Blood. Stiles could taste it like pennies in his mouth.

He swallowed a penny when he was younger. His mother flew into a panic and fed him cookies until he practically burst. It was one of the happiest days of Stiles’ childhood. He swallowed a quarter after that, but his father had been there and fed him some medicine instead. It was chalky and awful and had no resemblance to cookies.

He heard Derek laugh at that. He was sitting next to him on the top of the Maze and they were watching Rockford burn in the distance. Along the wall he could see Peter playing a fiddle and swaying to the music. Derek’s laughter increased.

“You think this is funny?” Stiles asked him. “You think it’s funny that my friends are dying?”

Derek sobered at that. He moved in to hold him and Stiles pushed him away. He toppled off the Maze wall and into the wood below, calling out to Stiles for help.

Stiles stood and screamed for him.

He fell so slowly. So very slowly.

Peter whispered: “You can jump after him, Stiles.” The monster’s breath was at his neck. “All it takes is one… single… step.”

And then Peter pushed him…

 

~080~

 

He was awakened by his friends’ moaning. He sat up and lit the lantern. All three of them were sweating and panting and writhing in pain. He touched Scott’s forehead and pulled his hand back; the boy was burning up. Isaac had begun to convulse and Lydia’s head was flicking right and left and right, whipping back and forth, the rest of her rigid, fists clasped tight in her blanket.

“Oh Christ,” was all Stiles could manage as he watched his three friends - his best friend - fight for their lives.

What do I do?

What do I do?

Have to help.

What do I do?

But there was nothing to do. Stiles couldn’t call out for someone unless he wanted to give his friends and their injuries away. He couldn’t run around the Glade gathering things (water, they need water and lots of it); he would arouse too much suspicion. He couldn’t go to his dad. He couldn’t go to Mrs. McCall. All Lydia’s mom would do would be to alert the entire Glade, nevermind the committee. And he flat out refused to go to Mr. Lahey.

He opened one of the canteens they had brought with them and attempted to get some water down Scott’s throat. It dribbled down his face, but mostly went into his mouth. He did the same for the other two, struggling a bit with Lydia until he could pin her head with one hand on her forehead and pour with the other. He didn’t know if it would help or even matter, but he couldn’t sit on his hands and do nothing.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega,” he said softly. He didn’t know whether he was saying it for his friends or for his own rising anxiety, but it seemed to help. They were settling into the words as he repeated them over and over, the rhythm of the syllables creating a beacon to light the way until morning. He kept at it until they were all fast asleep again. Stiles’ head hit the pillow as he continued his chant, his body giving over to exhaustion as the first rays of light came into the sky above the tent. “Alpha… Beta… Omega….”

 

~080~

 

Well before those same first rays of light made clear to them where they were, the Argents reached what was once Rockford. The smell came on the wind to them through the pines, warning them of the foetid blackened masses of bodies that had been caught in the flames of the disaster. A twisted part of Kate’s brain said: “Mmmm… barbeque” and she suppressed a giggle.

“Get the lights on up ahead there,” ordered Gerard.

Chris hand-cranked their portable generator and gave life and light to the powerful front-facing lamps they carried on board their wagon. He heard Allison gasp beside him and he reached for her hand reflexively.

To their left should have been the main gate to the city - except it wasn’t there anymore. It was pulled apart and splintered, the massive logs that made it up scorched on the outside and scattered about in the entryway to Rockford. There were signs of people, but no signs of life. The black lumps that the darkness had shrouded along the ground were revealed to be once living humans, their clothing and bodies charred in places or completely consumed. Allison slapped a hand over her mouth and turned her face away, burying it in her father’s chest.

“Don’t you let her do that!” said Gerard. “Don’t mollycoddle the girl! Make her look! Make her see!”

Chris held back a sigh and released his daughter. She looked to him sadly for a fleeting moment and then shifted her gaze to obey her grandfather’s wishes. This was a lesson she had to learn.

“Do you see?” said her Aunt Kate. “Do you see the destruction and death? This is why we do what we do, angel.”

“And this is why we do what we do,” echoed Gerard in agreement. “They’re animals. All of them. They took your grandmother, they took your mother, they killed all of these innocent people. And for what? I know you see that burnt up baby doll in the child’s hand there. What chance did she have? What chance did any of them have?”

Allison felt the lump in her throat grow, but she didn’t dare cry - not in front of him.

Gerard pointed at Chris. “If it weren’t for you, we’d have gotten here sooner.”

“We all needed rest, dad,” said Chris. “It was only a four hour stop. And we would have only trimmed our arrival by that much. At best, we’d have seen the tail end of this disaster, the final ember burning out.”

“And now we’re seeing none of it,” said Gerard. “Trail’s not quite cold, but it soon will be.”

“We don’t need a trail, do we?” asked Kate. “I think we all know what our next stop should be.”

Gerard nodded. “Hale house. Do you remember the way?”

“How could I forget?” she replied and urged her mount forward down the Trader Road.

“I thought you wiped out the Hales?” asked Allison. “The pack of twenty-five down by the river? Wasn’t that them?”

Kate paused for a moment before saying casually: “I guess one of them got away.”

Allison looked curiously at her father but he never met her eyes. He simply watched his sister turn her mount toward the Maze road and move away.

As Kate and Gerard rode ahead of them, Chris guided the wagon along, keeping a wary eye out for movement. He doused the lamps as soon as they were underway, preferring his natural instincts in the dark to relying on artificial light that could cause shadows to leap and jump as they moved along.

“That was awful,” whispered Allison. Chris grimaced. She was a child the last time they were in this section of the world and Victoria and he had kept her away from the battle entirely. She never bore witness to the devastation of it all. Nor had she seen them destroy those twenty-five they caught by the river a year later. In that year, she had become fairly adept at taking care of herself; Victoria’s willfulness and independence blooming true in her offspring. By nine she was cooking meals for all of them and could out-shoot her own aunt with a bow and arrow. They were all proud. She had been taught tracking, taught the rules, taught fighting techniques, taught the Code, and she had excelled in her training. But she had never seen a kill.

“I know, honey,” said Chris. “But keep it to yourself. We can talk about it later after we’ve checked the Hale house.”

“Is Aunt Kate going to string them up if we find any?”

“I have no idea what we’re going to do,” said Chris. He glanced at her. “How do you know about Kate’s penchant for stringing up?”

Allison went silent and curled her spine in a little.

“What happened?”

“You were in Curlew. Kate said she had found one. And I’d never seen one.”

Chris let out an exasperated and angry sigh.

“Dad, it’s fine,” said Allison, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“How is this fine?” asked Chris. “I was only in Curlew for a few hours to get supplies. How could she have had a wolf strung up-?”

“It happened when I was ten, dad,” said Allison.

Chris turned his shocked gaze upon her. “What?” he whispered as angrily as he dared.

Both of them stole a glance at Gerard and Kate who were barely visible in the darkness before them.

“It was a long time ago,” she continued. “She showed me his claws and his fangs. She reminded me of the Code. Then she brought me back to camp. That was it. I never saw her- kill him.”

“Who was he?”

“Some Omega,” she said. “A drifter after the Flare.”

“Thank God,” said Chris. “If he’d had a pack, the two of you would have been mincemeat.”

“I know,” said Allison. “Which is why I think Aunt Kate showed me him then. She knew it was the safest encounter I’d have. And she was right there, dad. The whole time. She watched me like a hawk.”

“I should hope so,” said Chris.

“And that town… with all those people,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” said Chris. “We can’t save everyone. All we can do is try.”

“It’s not that,” said Allison, weeping. “It’s that I’ll never be strong like her or like mom was.” She looked at him, her eyes pleading. “I don’t want to be afraid. Fear is the real enemy - that’s what you’ve always taught me. But I’m always afraid, daddy. And I don’t know what to do.”

Chris wrapped one protective arm around her as they rode along, planting a kiss to the top of her head lovingly. “We’ll make you stronger, baby. Don’t worry.”

“I just want you to be proud of me,” she whispered.

“I already am,” he said.

Gerard’s horse came into view and Chris brought the wagon to a halt.

“This is where we go for a walk,” said Gerard. “Bring the guns, some suppressors, and the mistletoe gas.”

 

~080~

 

“Stiles!”

“Stiles!”

Someone was shaking him awake. Scott.

“Not now, man… just another minute,” said Stiles sleepily.

“Stiles, we’re alive. We’re okay, Stiles. All of us.”

It took Stiles’ brain a few seconds to process this information properly. He snapped awake and sat up, instantly smacking his forehead on Scott’s.

“Ow!” the cried simultaneously.

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you shuckfaces,” said Isaac.

Stiles rubbed his head and then his eyes, looking around at his friends as if for the first time.

Scott looked… bigger somehow. They all did. Bigger and healthier and stronger. Isaac actually looked like he had color in his cheeks.

“You guys are okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Scott, beaming. “Looks like we made it through.”

“Of course that now means that we’re monsters,” said Stiles.

“You know Stiles, that’s what I love about you, man,” said Isaac, “your eternal positive outlook.”

“Nevermind that now,” said Scott. “We’ve got to get going. There’s something going on at the western gate.”

“What do you mean?” asked Stiles.

“We can hear them,” said Isaac.

“You can hear who?”

“The Glade,” said Scott. “We can hear everyone in the Glade.”

“All of them?” asked Stiles.

“I can’t hear anyone but you three,” said Lydia. “Oh God… I’m going to die of the Flare, aren’t I?”

They all stared at her.

Scott broke the silence. “Everyone’s up and wanting to race to Rockford,” he said. “Your dad is trying to keep the peace and only let certain people through: Medjacks, Builders, Traders. But there’s a panic. Everyone’s scared.”

“Including us,” said Isaac. He cocked his head. “I can hear my dad yelling at your dad to let everyone who wants to battle the wolves out of the Maze to fight, but your dad won’t let them. Scott’s mom is yelling at my dad. Dr. Deaton’s gathering the Medjacks together. Lydia’s mom is trying to get everyone to go home, gather a few belongings and go to the Mess Hall. Coach is helping round up the kids and some of the mothers and get them to the Gathering House for safety. It’s shucking chaos.”

“Is anyone looking for us?” asked Stiles.

“No,” said Scott. “No one is.”

“Dr. Deaton is,” said Isaac. “In fact, he’s close. I can hear him.”

“That’s alright,” said Stiles. He felt a pang of missing his own mother in that moment.

“That’s not all,” said Isaac. “Danny is with him too. They’re headed this way.”

“What about Donovan?” asked Stiles. The boys paused, listening, straining to hear.

The walls shifted open at that exact moment and both boys collapsed and cried out in pain, clutching their hands to their ears. Stiles looked about him not knowing what to do. All they needed was for Dr. Deaton and Danny to come barging in and asking questions. Scott let out a low growl and the boys whined in pain once the noise had stopped.

“Oh my god,” said Isaac. “Is my brain coming out of my ears? Because I think my brain is coming out of my ears.”

“Shut up, man,” said Stiles.

“That hurt,” said Scott.

“Note to self: werewolf hearing is highly sensitive,” said Stiles. “Can we go and act normal now? We have unplanned visitors.”

Both boys shook it off as best they could and began to pack the tent up.

“Hello shuckfaces,” said Danny. “Did you all have fun camping out while the Glade goes to hell?”

Deaton looked at Stiles. “How is everyone?”

Stiles looked at Deaton and with a voice desperate to hide his terror asked: “Wha- what do you mean?”

Deaton smiled enigmatically. “I see everyone survived the night?”

Everyone stared.

Deaton shrugged. “I’m not stupid. You don’t get on the committee or become chair of the Medjacks because you don’t pay attention to details.”

“And have you told-”

“Of course not! Just Danny here, but he’s trustworthy.”

Stiles looked at Danny. “You wouldn’t tell- I mean… you didn’t- have you told my d-”

“Stiles Stilinski, if you finish that sentence, I’ll kill you with the first rock I can get my hands on,” said Danny.

“Okay, okay… Just checking.”

“Besides, dude,” said Danny, shrugging, “it’s Beacon Hills.”

They rejoined the others, just as Scott was shouldering the tent in its duffel bag. His pain was gone and Stiles could tell he was standing up straighter than ever. Isaac too was enjoying his full height.

As if reading his mind, Scott moved to him and in a low voice remarked: “I feel amazing, Stiles.” His tone was odd. Stiles looked into his eyes and waited, knowing his friend just needed time to find the words. “I feel so good but at the same time, it feels wrong. Like I stole someone else’s power. Like it doesn’t belong to me.”

“That’s probably because you didn’t choose it,” said Stiles.

Scott thought about it for a minute and said: “Maybe.”

“Come on, you guys,” said Isaac. “We’re going to miss out on all the fun!”

“What fun?” said Lydia. “The Glade is in an uproar.”

“So…” said Danny. “Does anyone here want to confirm Dr. Deaton and my suspicions? Or are we just going to go on pretending that we don’t know exactly what happened to you last night?”

Everyone stared at everyone else for several seconds before Scott broke the silence.

“We got bit by an Alpha werewolf,” said Scott. “We almost didn’t make it through, but Stiles watched over us. We’re officially werewolves as of today. You can’t tell anyone. They’ll lynch us.”

Danny blinked. “Lahey will lynch you, yeah.”

Scott moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. He eyed Deaton to bring him into what he was about to say: “You seriously can’t tell anyone, okay, Danny? Okay, doc?”

“You have my promise, Scott,” said Deaton confidently.

“Y-yeah,” Danny said, shivering a little. “Yeah sure.” He turned to Lydia. “Even you?”

“I’m not so sure. I don’t have their hearing. And I don’t really feel different,” she admitted, “except maybe a little queasy.” Everyone standing there knew what she didn’t want to admit. No one wanted Lydia to die. Unfortunately, all they could do was wait and see.

“But your wound is healed, isn’t it?” asked Deaton.

She lifted her shirt and peeled back the bandage. Her skin was blotched with a bit of pink in places, but she was healed for the most part.

“Is that good?” asked Stiles, trying not to become distracted at the sight of Lydia’s creamy midriff.

“Not sure,” said Deaton, “but I should think it would be hopeful. We’ll have to give it time.” He looked at Lydia. “You experience any kind of uncontrollable, irrational rage, you let us know, okay?”

Lydia looked scared for a moment before nodding firmly. “I’ll be fine. Maybe girls change slower than guys.”

“It’s a possibility,” said Deaton, “and one I hadn’t considered. We’ll have to give it time.”

“So we have two wolves, one I don’t know… and one human,” said Danny. “That sum it up?”

“Perfectly,” said Stiles. He tried to keep his worry for Lydia in check but her small smile acknowledged it.

Isaac changed the subject with an excited interjection: “Guys! What are we doing here? We have a war to fight! People to rescue!” He looked around to them all. “Don’t you get it? We can fight for the Glade now. Scott and I, we’re shucking superheroes! Let’s go out there and save some townspeople!”

“But we don’t know how to use our powers yet,” said Scott. “The grind from the walls was enough to put us down for the count. I have no idea how to get claws or fangs or whatever. Do you? What are we going to be able to do out there?”

“Well…” said Stiles.

“What?” asked Scott.

“You could go and see if you can find Derek,” he said.

“I thought you said-”

“Yeah, I know. I’m still angry at him, but he’s the only hope any of you have of finding out what you’ve got to look forward to.”

“And the full moon is tonight,” said Lydia.

They all exchanged a terrified look with one another and ran to the open Glade where they followed the others headed toward Rockford.

 

~080~

 

Chris didn’t know how it all came about. One minute they were exploring what appeared to be an empty home, the next, they were standing at the edge of the treeline that surrounded the property and watching it go up in flames. Kate had come up from the basement, whispered something to Gerard and then he called for tactical retreat. It was then he smelled the smoke but it was too late to do anything.

Allison took his hand as they stood and watched the fire apart from her grandfather and aunt. “Why did Aunt Kate do that?” she whispered to him.

“Because she’s not happy unless the world’s on fire,” he said, eyeing them both as they watched the conflagration. He noted the gleam in her eyes, the proud smile on her face. She always had the same look on her face when they were surrounded by death and destruction.

He had never minded being a Hunter. Wolves were humans who were given powers that they couldn’t hope to control. It was an act of mercy to put them down. He wasn’t afraid to live by the Code. The Code gave them focus. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent. We hunt those who hunt us. They were easy words to live by, direct, concrete. But what was happening now was just plain destruction. It made no sense. Chris could already hear Gerard in his head explaining away why it was smart to burn down the ancestral home of a family of wolves who they knew were harmless: “We do this and any surviving Hales can’t run for cover anywhere.”

At the same moment, he heard his response in his mind: “They will run for cover - straight to the northern pack we’ve been watching.” And he knew he was right. All these years as a Hunter, he had learned to trust his instincts; this moment was no different. And back when Victoria was alive he had someone who, if not totally on his side in every decision, was someone he trusted implicitly for wisdom and calm reason. It was his favorite thing about her as a leader. This holocaust, he felt, she would not have approved of. It was senseless and would only result in making a family of otherwise peaceful wolves hateful and even more destructive than they already were.

He glanced over at his daughter, noting the confusion on her face. He wanted to tell her that Victoria would never have allowed this, but it was a moot point. Victoria wasn’t here and any mention of her only ended up causing them both undue pain and grief. He remained silent.

This whole situation was niggling at the back of his brain. He had suspected for years what had happened at the river wasn’t right. And he knew the Hales had survived it, despite what Gerard or Kate claimed. So now the question was: where were the Hales? Judging by the history he knew, they were protective of the humans. They were not a threat. If they were the culprits who burned Rockford to cinders, wouldn’t they have brought the newly bitten back to their home? No. It didn’t fit. They were most likely on the trail of the perpetrators, not the criminals themselves. But to explain his reasoning to Gerard or Kate would be a lost cause. And there was no way to recover the Hale house now.

All four of them took a collective step back as part of the roof collapsed, sending a billowing cloud of smoke and flame into the air. He prayed none of the Hales were within scent of it. Or maybe that’s what Kate wanted? He gave his sister another appraising glance and watched her body language: she was tense, eager. She was raring to kill someone or something. She wanted blood. He had known her too long to not see the signs. Victoria never trusted her with missions; she knew she was a loose cannon.

“This makes no sense,” he said under his breath.

“What?” said Allison.

“We should get going to the Maze,” he said, louder. Gerard heard him from where he stood and nodded.

“Let’s saddle up,” he said.

 

~080~

 

Allison had never seen such a thing in all her life. Of course, her father had told her that it existed, but he left out any details. She wasn’t expecting it to be so… ominous. The great western gate was closed before them and as they approached, their position down the road prevented them from taking in the whole scale of the construct. As they ambled along, the gray granite peeked at them through the leaves and branches of the overhanging trees. Suddenly the earth shook and their horses nickered and started as the great hidden gears activated and a portion of the outer wall slipped away with a scraping and a gigantic boom.

“Looks like they were expecting us,” said Kate as they meandered their way along the road toward the walls. As they moved on, Allison could see that a portion of the top of one wall was missing. It wasn’t a very big hunk, but something told her that they weren’t close enough to it yet to tell just how big the opening was. Three bends in the road later and it straightened out to reveal a dark pathway cut into cool stone.

“It’s huge,” was all she managed. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. The next few minutes taught her a lesson in humility as the closer they got to the Maze, the smaller and smaller she felt. She could see the ivy hanging along the surface of it at that distance, the crevice now a more well-formed corridor that seemed to disappear inside, leading to nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Soon that corridor contained color and her sharp Hunter’s eye told her that it was people.

“Incoming!” she shouted and they all tucked in as close to the treeline at the side of the road as possible.

A cart driven by a sandy-haired man came into view. He was flanked and followed by others, most of them jogging, others on horseback.

“Gladers,” her dad told the others.

“Well what do you know,” quipped Kate, “a maze with rats in it.” She flashed a smile at Allison. Allison returned it weakly. Kate went to her niece and put an arm around her. “Don’t worry, kiddo. They are a simple people, but they’re not wolf-kind. They’re why we’re here.”

“Yeah,” said Allison. “I know.”

The cart pulled up short and the man at the reins greeted them: “My name is Jordan Parrish, Deputy Security Officer of the Glade. You folks from Rockford? You need help?”

Gerard stepped forward. “No, son. It’s our understanding that you need our help.”

“Sir?” asked Parrish, clearly confused.

Chris piped up: “We’re Hunters, Deputy Parrish. You called us.”


	21. Chapter 21

They raced north as fast as their injured werewolf bodies would allow. Peter’s trail was distinct to the both of them; they could have tracked him anywhere in the world - even in the desert wastelands of the Scorch. As soon as they were halfway there, the territory of the Hales ended and the wildwoods began. These were unclaimed woodlands and fields stretching for miles in every northerly direction away from the Wolf Wood and the Maze. After the Maze war, three different packs ran off in this direction, the Hales leading the chase after them. As if sensing the natural border of their lands, Derek and Cora stood just inside the treeline and looked out over territories they had never ventured into in all their days on the earth.

He could hear Cora’s steady strong heartbeat beside him. Her wounds suffered in Rockford were mostly healed; the only mark remaining was a small bruise on her left cheek but even that was yellow and fading fast. He was suddenly proud of her strength.

“Which way now?” she asked him.

Derek closed his eyes and scented the air around them. Peter wasn’t more than an hour ahead of them. Derek ran to his right across an open patch of grass to a secondary treeline of a new wood one hundred yards off. He scented all along the forest’s edge until he picked it up again: the sharp tang of his uncle’s eager greed. He turned to Cora and waved her over.

“I’m so glad you’re a bit better at scenting than I am. I would have been here for years trying to find him,” she said.

There was a breeze from the west that caught their clothes and their hair and on it drifted a different scent. A scent Derek Hale hadn’t smelled for years.

“What the hell?” he said.

“Who is that?” asked Cora. “It’s familiar somehow. How do I know that scent? And who would be traveling that way? The north road that leads from the Maze is disused, but the trail from it is fairly distinctive. You’d think if anyone were coming to the Wolf Wood or the Maze would use it instead. And that road’s still to the east of us.”

“It’s another road,” said Derek. “I’ve seen it on mom’s maps of the area she has in the basement. There are two roads leading from the north. One leading to the ghost town of Burney which is where we want to go…”

“And the other?”

“That one leads to the west of Burney and then further north toward McCloud at the foot of Mt. Shasta.”

“Who do we know out that way?” she asked, still not able to shake the scent from her memory.

He looked at her, his eyes begging her not to force the information from him.

“Derek?” she asked.

He sighed. “Hunters. Hunters live out that way.”

“What Hunters?” she asked. And then her face lit up with recognition: “Holy shit. Not those Hunters? Not her?!”

His mouth formed a thin line as his sister continued to stare at him, a mixture of surprise, shock, and worry gracing her features.

“Why the hell would those Hunters be this far south?”

Derek winced and faced her. “Maybe because someone called them?”

“Who would do that? And how would they know to? We had no idea about Rockford until it was too late. How would Hunters know to come?”

“Because someone in the Maze sent a message before Rockford was razed. They called them before anything happened.”

“And you know that because?” She dragged the last syllable of the last word out encouragingly.

“Because Stiles told me,” he admitted. “He told me that Hunters were called. Someone in the Glade acted on his own and called them here to kill Peter. He had threatened the Glade and Stiles told the Gladers, but I convinced him to change his mind, but then it was too late and the Glader sent off his message and now we’re fucked.”

Cora shook her head in confusion. “How did you-? When did-? I- I don’t even know what to ask you. When were you planning on telling the family about this?”

“Before the burning of Rockford,” said Derek. “But it was already on fire before anything could be done.”

Cora was beyond angry. “So Hunters are here and they’re looking for us? And you didn’t say anything to anyone? Jesus, Der! How stupid could you be? They’re going to wipe us out.”

“They’re looking for Peter,” corrected Derek.

“Since when do Hunters differentiate between wolves?” she demanded. “You know they’ll just sweep in and kills us all! Derek! What the hell were you thinking?”

“Mom knew,” he said. “I told her. But then, Rockford happened and…”

“And we had no time to prepare because your precious little Glader boy toy got his panties in a twist over some growling and glowy eyes from Uncle Peter? I suppose the stupid kid was crying when he told you.”

“Shut up about him, Cora,” said Derek. “I’m really tired of the way you talk about him. And besides, what he said or how he said it is irrelevant right now. We need to focus. Save mom: that’s our priority.”

“I’ll go by the northern road that leads from the Maze. You go that way,” she said, nodding toward the road to McCloud. “Go chase your old Hunter girlfriend. I’m sure she’d dig the reunion.”

“Cora!” he called, but she swiftly turned and ran away from him toward the northern Maze road.

Again, he was alone.

He closed his eyes and sighed, hoping that their separation would not only give each of them time to think, but also a tactical advantage once they reached Burney.

He turned and ran.

Her scent was like no other and he closed his eyes, smelling past the distraction of horse dung and the other males and female in the group. All that existed as he ran along the open field and past the small brush was her smell. It faded as he ran; she was far south of him now. Somehow he could never get rid of the tingle of her scent, her presence, her energy. They were mortal enemies. She had seen to that when she broke his heart and revealed herself as a Hunter.

His mother had admonished him for being so unwise. His uncle’s look of derision was enough to wilt fruit on the vine. “Stupid boy,” he had chanted. “Stupid stupid boy.”

He kicked himself for years wondering why he hadn’t spotted it, what he had missed that would have given away that she was a Hunter the whole time. He thought he knew her better than she knew herself. She told him that that was what she had always wanted in a man her whole life. But she was a year older than him and seemed much older than that in a lot of ways. As he looked back on it now, he had chalked up a lot of her more strange behavior to her being more worldly wise than he. After all, the Wolf Wood of Beacon Hills was all he knew.

She was so different before her big reveal. Rockford and its school was thriving then too. The whole world was brighter; memories always are. Filtered through time and tide, the moments they spent together swam in front of him like shiny colorful fish: her smile, her laugh, her hair when the sun caught it just right, her strength, her cavalier attitude, the way she filled out those jeans, the first time they had made love, the second time, the third - the time she cried in front of him when her father scolded her for something she could never quite explain to him.

Derek supposed then just after it was all over that her father had chided her because of her reluctance to put Derek down, to kill him. He thought she loved him. All the years that had gone by, providing him with ample time for reflection, he came to the conclusion that she never did.

Gerard Argent wanted every wolf dead and he made no mystery of it. His own mother had warned him of Gerard’s penchant for eviscerating first and asking questions later.

But he had no idea at the time that Gerard was her father. The only things he knew were that they had to hide their love from the world and that he wanted to hunt her bastard father down for making his first love’s eyes fill with tears time and time again. He wanted so desperately to protect her that he introduced her to his family. He took her to his room. He showed her his things. He gave her presents and flowers. He did everything to put a smile on her face so that she wouldn’t be sad anymore.

Of course, he knew now that she was probably just making it all up. All of Gerard’s supposed crimes, all the mean and heartless things he would say were no more than a flight of fancy created for the purposes of twisting him around her little finger. And it worked. When the mask of her love fell away, she had revealed herself to be just like the monster she made her father out to be: proud, cruel, merciless.

“All Hunters are the same, Derek,” his mother had told him. “They’re not assassins. They’re exterminators. They see us as an infestation, abominations against the natural order of things. But the natural order was disturbed when the Flare struck. They’re just too blind to see that we are all the same; we all have the same struggles. But until their eyes are opened, remember: all hunters are exterminators.”

Even to this day, he had a tough time thinking of her as an exterminator. And that thought made him angry. How could he excuse her like that? Why would he? She is a Hunter. And after all these years, she’s probably a well-accomplished Hunter at that.

The air burned in his lungs as he lost his concentration on his running. He stumbled and tripped, caught himself and righted himself in time to carefully stop and take a moment to gather his thoughts, hands gripping his knees. Based on the map his mother had shown him, he knew that the road he was on was due west from the northern gate road and they ran parallel for some miles before his road veered toward the west north west and on to McCloud. He wanted to run to McCloud and keep on running past Mt. Shasta and to any point beyond.

His mother’s face swam before him, her voice in his ears. “You do not abandon your family. The pack is everything. The pack keeps you safe. Without it, you are a dead wolf walking.”

He raised his eyes to the north along the road, took a breath, and ran.

 

~080~

 

The evening of the Rockford fire, he arrived at what remained of the township called Burney. Laura and Talia were naked and already in cages suspended two stories up, dangling from an archway between two buildings. A garland of mistletoe and wolfsbane was woven in the bars at the top to keep each woman weak. Each cage was more than an arm’s length distant from the other and supported with so many chains that they were prevented from swinging. No matter how much they reached for each other, neither woman could touch the other; they were mere inches apart but it might as well have been miles.

“Well this is a pretty picture,” said Peter.

“Uncle Peter! You bastard! Get us out of here!” cried Laura.

“All in good time, dear niece.”

“Peter, you’re not thinking of the consequences,” warned Talia.

“I have this all well in hand, sister,” said Peter. “And besides, you really aren’t in a position to worry. After all, I’ll be taking your Alpha status and doing things my way. You had your chance.” He strolled off in the direction of the community center. It was there that mattresses and chains covered the floor: mattresses for comfort, chains for protection. All the bitten were chained, two or three to a mattress and Peter stepped among and around them toward Kali and Ennis.

“Where is Deucalion?” he asked them.

Kali pointed her finger toward one corner of the room. Deucalion was kneeling over the body of a woman who was crying and pleading with him. Peter walked to him just as he was securing the manacles to her wrists. He smoothed a hand through her hair as he stood and turned toward him.

“Is this what you had in mind, Peter?” His outstretched hand swept the room.

“All these are for you, Alpha,” said Peter. “They are in exchange for the opportunity you’ve given me: a weak Alpha to conquer. My thanks to you.”

Deucalion gave a small bow. “Glad to be of service.” He looked down at the terrified woman on the mattress and smiled gently.

“Their night’s going to be rough,” Peter said.

Deucalion knelt down and stroked her hair again.

“Friend of yours?” asked Peter.

“No,” said Deucalion. “Does she have to be?”

“I suppose not, but why coddle? Either their going to live and become stronger, or-”

“That’s precisely why you should be gentle, Peter,” said Deucalion. “Being an Alpha isn’t all about ruling over others. It’s about leadership. And that requires a certain sense of mercy.” He smiled down at the woman and she gave a weak smile back.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I suppose if you bite a town full of strangers that you have to earn their trust,” he said, “but all I want is the status.”

“Then take your sister down in battle,” said Deucalion. “She’s all yours.” He waved a hand at Peter and continued to smile down comfortingly at the woman who stared at him with tears streaming down her face.

Peter left the community center with barely a glance backward.

Kali moved to Deucalion’s side. “Are we done with him?”

“He’s done with us,” said Deucalion.

“I heard him. Talking like he handed the town to us,” she said. “Seems to me that we’ve done most of the work here and he’s just scooped up his precious sister.”

“Yes,” said Deucalion. “No doubt that he thinks we’ll be too busy to pay any attention to him.”

“What do you mean?”

Deucalion chuckled. He stood and put an arm around her, walking her toward Ennis. “Get the twins. Tell them to set up the Hales for Peter like we agreed and then tell them to come here. Let the Hales deal with each other. Once the night has passed, kill the doomed quickly, wrangle the others. Then gather them all to train. We take the Maze by midday tomorrow.”

 

~080~

 

Peter never discovered the names of the twins. It didn’t matter because he couldn’t tell the difference between them anyway, but one of them was more helpful that the other, almost flirting in his intense looks toward him. Peter graced him with a smile as he watched him release his weakened and vulnerable sister into the small town square where he first encountered Deucalion. She stumbled forward and collapsed on the ground. With a gloved hand, the twin tossed the garland of wolfsbane and mistletoe over her legs.

Talia kicked it off easily and shifted, her fangs bared, her eyes as red as death. “You want Alpha status? Come take it.”

Peter shifted in mid-pounce.

They scrabbled in the dust, each one vying for a clamp around the throat that would mean dominance.

Laura watched from her perch above. “Get him, Mom!” But her cries were lost to the two on the ground, their intense concentration pushing away all other distractions.

Snapping, growling, biting, ripping tearing: all of it a whirlwind of action and vicious determination. Finally, and with a great thrust of power, Talia threw her brother off of her and got to her paws. She was weak, but willful. Peter growled, his muzzle pink with foam and blood. “Give up, Talia. Relinquish the status and this ends. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“You can’t kill me, Peter,” said Talia. “You’d have to actually be worthy of the title of Alpha for that.”

“You bitch!” He leapt at her and she pounced out of the way, but not quickly enough. He caught her by the tail. She slipped it through his jaws, stripping some fur and skin with it.

“Fuck!” she cried and snapped at his underbelly, ripping away some fur and skin of her own.

He spun on her and lunged full-force for her throat. She curled under him and rolled her body to try and shake his grip, but found herself pinned and struggling for breath. She could feel her life force draining from her, her will seeping out like the thin thread of air that managed to wheeze in and out of her lungs. Her spirit was cowed in seconds. Above her she heard Laura cry out in shock. And then everything went black.

 

~080~

 

He ran toward the Maze delirious with power. Talia would never recover; there was no coming back for her now or ever. This was his new beginning. He would have his army and they would be strong and they would be loyal; as loyal as that weeping woman on the mattress in the Burney community center. He still thought coddling unnecessary, but if it would gain him a loyal, unquestioning pack, then he could shake hands and kiss babies with the best of them.

The ground beneath his paws felt wonderful. The blood in him had risen and he was free at last to do what he had always dreamed. Nothing could stop him now.

“Peter!” cried a voice and for a moment he thought it was Talia, somehow returned from death and chasing him down, but the voice came from in front of him and upwind. He stopped, sniffing anyway and waiting for the cry to come again.

“Uncle Peter!” It was Cora. He turned his head and could just see her between the pines, hands curled into fists, her body slightly crouched like a coiled spring, all potential energy and violence. “How could you?”

“Remarkably easily,” he said. He shifted back and walked to her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to choose what side you’re on from here on out.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Her claws came out and her fangs dropped. “What have you done with Laura and mom?”

“Ah-ah-ah!” he warned, wagging a finger at her. “Be very careful, my dear.” His eyes flashed with the red of the Alpha.

“What-” she gasped and took a step back. “What the hell have you done?” she cried, tears welling in her eyes. “You- you killed her. You killed my mother, your sister! You killed her and Laura too, didn’t you? Tell me! TELL ME!”

“You must really think me a monster for killing her, Cora,” he said, the trace of the growl under his words. “Truly, I didn’t want her life, just her power. And now that I have it, I can do as I like. Now… are you with me, or against me?”

“You’re not my Alpha,” she said, lowered her head, and leapt at him.

 

~080~

 

Deucalion stepped into the square and slow clapped his way to where Talia lay. She was as still as death and Laura wept above her in her cage. But despite the girl's sobbing, he had heard it - a lone heartbeat coming from the chest of the broken werewolf on the cobblestones.

“I’d say that that was a wasted death, but you're still there, aren't you? Fighting away,” said Deucalion, placing his hands behind his back thoughtfully. “Happened to me once, the "hair's breadth away from death" moment. But of course I was younger then and not yet an Alpha.” He peered up at Laura in her cage, her body crumpled in defeat, her eyes on fire with rage. He should have been cautious of a wolf at bay, but he simply gave her a small smile and continued: “Back then I thought that to be an Alpha meant that you got to be immortal; constantly worshiped and followed by your betas until the end of forever. And then I found that Alphas were nothing more than uppity werewolves. True, being able to create more of wolf-kind with a bite was amazing, but to know that an Alpha could bleed, die, pass along their Alpha status simply by being defeated in a death-battle, that had me truly fascinated.”

He turned back to Talia. “And to think that you didn’t tell Peter about all that. He thought that you only needed to be put out of the way, that all his family would have to do was accept him as their de facto leader and he would simply become an Alpha.” He squatted beside Talia’s broken form watching her watching him. “I recall telling you that years ago just after the Flare struck. I guess you didn’t want to engage him in a fight and now I see why.”

“Go to hell, Deucalion,” Talia managed weakly.

“No,” said Deucalion. “I think I’ll let you get there first.” He stood astride her body, bent over her, and snapped her neck.

“NO!” shrieked Laura. “MOM! NO! You fucking BASTARD!” She grabbed the bars of her cage and shook them violently. “You fucking ASSHOLE! Let me out! Let me out and we’ll see who’s Alpha after that! LET ME OUT!”

Deucalion nodded to Ennis who took hold of the chains attached to the wall of the building that held her cage in suspense. As soon as he he had them in hand, he released them and the cage clanged hard to the cobblestone street of the square. It landed on one corner, popping the soldered joint and buckling the hinge. Laura’s head met with the edge of the exposed metal and Deucalion could hear the crack her skull made as it met the cage. Laura didn’t stir.

Deucalion sighed, wistfully. “There’s really no such a thing as decent competition anymore.” He stalked to the cage, ripped one of the walls off of it, reached inside and grabbed Laura by the throat. He looked at Ennis. “Do we let her recover?”

“We have better things to worry about,” said Ennis.

“True,” said Deucalion, letting his gaze caress Laura’s beautiful face. “Still… it’s a shame to waste such a beauty so quickly. But I suppose needs must.” He broke her neck with one swift movement of his hands, turned away from them both, and left them to rot, one lying next to the other, their faces turned toward each other, their hands inches apart.


	22. Chapter 22

She had no hope of defeating her uncle, but she did want to get in as many licks as she could while she was still alive. Her movements were wild and desperate and Peter blocked her easily. Even though he wasn’t doing much more than smirking, she could hear him in her head telling her that she was too hot-blooded for combat. She didn’t want to admit that he was right, but the more she fought against him, the less ground she seemed to gain and the more he could predict her movements. It was practically child’s play to him.

“I hate you,” was the best vitriol she knew and she interjected into their battle at intervals, Peter always receiving it with a mock-hurt look and a laugh.

“You don’t have to love me to follow me, princess,” he purred into her ear when he managed to catch her by both wrists. He gave her a playful peck on the cheek before smacking his forehead into her nose.

Cora stumbled backward and fell to the ground, holding her bloody nose and glared up at him. It was then that it hit her: the thing that had angered her more than anything — even though he knew she was trying to kill him, trying her level best to separate his head from his shoulders -- he hadn’t even bothered to shift. She meant that little to him.

“You really are a bastard,” she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood and getting up slowly.

She wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to regret what he had done. She backed off from him, circling around, biding her time.

The errant wish for her older brother’s protection flashed through her mind for an instant before she dismissed it. Derek wasn’t there. They had parted company hours ago. She had to find a way to wound him all on her own.

The threat of Hunters might deter him, might make him flinch. She wondered if she should tell him or keep that to herself as she moved around him. It would certainly throw a wrench in his plans if he knew. But if he knew too soon, he might have time to prepare.

But prepare for what, she reasoned. There was no way he could get to the Maze, navigate it, bite every Glader, care for them during their first full moon which happened to be that very night, AND fight off Hunters. She smiled at him through the blood.

“You’re so fucked,” she laughed happily. She never thought she’d be happy about the advent of Hunters, but the situation was too perfect.

“And why is that?” he asked. She could see a small crinkle of worry form around his eyes.

“Because there are Hunters in the area,” she said. “Very close, actually. Scented them on the way up.”

He looked askance at her. “You lie.”

She shook her head. “Not a bit.”

“Talia was going to shut down the Gladers calling for help,” he said. “There’s no way they knew to come and no way word could have been sent that fast.”

Cora shrugged, smiling wider, the blood on her face giving her a feral aspect. “Guess it’s just a happy coincidence.” She wasn’t about to give him all the information she had. Besides, there was no point in telling him about a Glader who jumped the gun and got twitchy; the end result was the same.

For the first time since their meeting, Cora saw Peter confused, flustered. She had hoped for as much and she was delighted at the flummoxed look on his face.

“What’s the matter, Peter?” she said. “Alpha problems?”

“Shut up,” he said, offhandedly. He was clearly thinking about the situation he found himself in. Cora could have leapt for him again, but she was having much more fun watching him pace and unconsciously bite the cuticle of his thumb.

“You’re sure that you scented them?” he asked.

“As sure as I know you’re an asshole.”

“Very funny,” said Peter. He shook his head. “No matter. I can run faster than they can travel.” He turned to her. “You need to go. If Hunters are here, they’re not going to ask what petty squabbles we have going on in our pack. They’ll just kill us.”

“I’m not leaving Laura behind,” she said. “Where is she?”

“North of here in a little town called Burney,” said Peter absently. He turned to go. “Get her and get as far away from Beacon Hills as you can. Better two wolves with no Alpha than one wolf fighting another with Hunters around the corner.”

“I can’t let you go, Peter,” she said. “You haven’t answered for what you’ve done to this family, to mom.”

Peter blinked at her. “Darling girl, you know where I’ll be. If you and sissy and brother bear are still upset with me, then come and find me. But until you do, my plans go ahead as read. I need that army more than ever now.”

“But the full moon’s tonight!” she reasoned. “There’s no way you can get them all bit and settled before moonrise.”

“Who said anything had to happen tonight?” Peter answered her coolly, that look of irritating confidence back on his face. “Now get going before Deucalion and his pack sniff you out and put you in a wolfsbane cage like mommy and sister.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded horrific. He was right: she needed to regroup. And the fact that he didn’t know that Derek was also headed for Burney was an added bonus. They’d be three strong when they came for him, sooner rather than later, Hunters be damned. She turned and fled into the woods, pushing down the feeling of escaping retribution and focusing on rescue, reunion, and saying goodbye.

 

~080~

 

“Who the hell called Hunters?” asked Sheriff Stilinski, stepping forward. “We sent no messenger.”

“No messenger, but a message,” said Gerard. “Now what do you know about the wolf-kind here in Beacon Hills?”

Parrish shrugged. “Honestly, only stories. There are others here who could tell you more.” The deputy nodded his head toward Mr. Lahey.

Mr. Lahey was more than happy to take his cue. “Greetings Hunters,” he said with almost childlike glee. “So glad you’ve come!”

“Now wait one damn minute!” said John, stepping between Lahey and Gerard. “What message? Who sent a message? And more than that: how?”

“That’s right. That still doesn’t answer how they knew to come,” shouted Melissa from her perch atop the buckboard next to Deputy Parrish. “The committee never wanted Hunters. You know that.”

“Who cares?” shouted Lahey. “They’re here now and that’s all that matters. We can get rid of Peter Hale for good. The Glade will be safe again.”

“Peter Hale?” asked Chris Argent, stepping forward. “Why him specifically? We were told wolves were attacking your people. We assumed it was the whole Hale pack. Is it just the one?”

Gerard made a noise in the back of his throat. “Wolves are wolves. We’re not here to take a roll call. They all die and that’s an end to it.”

“The adult ones,” muttered Chris, pointedly avoiding his father’s stare.

“Sounds fine to me,” said Lahey.

“That does not sound fine to me,” said Melissa. “What about Derek Hale and his mother, their Alpha? I suppose they’ve threatened us so badly that we felt we needed Hunters here? I don’t remember voting on that.”

“Ma’am,” said Gerard, “I’d kindly thank you to keep quiet in matters in which you have no understanding. We’ve been hunting these beasts since the Flare. And we’ve found that, ultimately, these creatures are the better for the putting down.”

Melissa stared at him in stunned silence. Her mouth gaped and she couldn’t form words. The Sheriff found himself at a similar loss.

Lahey leaned in closely to Gerard, a smirk on his face. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen her speechless. I like you, Mr. … eh… What was your name?”

“Argent,” said the older man smoothly, “Gerard Argent.” They shook hands.

“Argent,” mused Lahey, “I remember that name from the wolf wars. You were here then weren’t-”

“You there,” said the Sheriff, cutting off Lahey and pointing at Chris. “Do you feel the same way? Even though we know some of their pack to be peaceful?”

Before Chris could answer him, Gerard cut him off again: “He’s my son. He does as he’s told. We keep to the Code.”

“What code?” asked Parrish.

“Our family Code,” said Kate, her look sweeping up and down Parrish like a hungry searchlight. “The Argent Hunter’s Code. ‘Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.’ We hunt those who hunt us.”

Gerard smiled at all who gathered around: Medjacks and concerned Gladers. “It’s a simple phrase that reminds us we live in an eat or be eaten world. You’ve been living in your Maze too long. You’ve grown soft, complacent. We live out here with them, constantly threatened. We are the vigilant ones, the ones who kill first.”

“Look!” shouted Parrish, pointing. “There’s a fire to the northwest in the wood.”

“Rockford?” someone asked.

“No,” said the Sheriff, “Rockford’s west of here, not northwest. And that’s much closer. What the hell’s on fire?”

“That’d be our first strike against the Hales,” said Gerard proudly. “We razed their house to the ground this morning.”

 

~080~

 

 

Allison had wandered across the small road as the adults greeted each other and then argued. When the plume of smoke was spotted, she turned to look with the rest and heard a breathy “Oh my God” from just behind her. She turned to see three boys and a girl, pink-cheeked and a little out of breath, stopped behind her gaping at the fire with a mixture of horror and worry.

“Was there anyone in there?” asked one boy, tall and blond with large blue eyes.

“No,” she replied easily. “We checked. It was empty.”

A boy with dark eyes and brown skin gazed at her as if she were an angel incarnate. He blinked a few times before he found his voice. “You’re one of the Hunters?”

She beamed a smile at him and put her hand out. “Allison Argent. And you are?”

He regarded her hand like a holy relic and shook it carefully. “Scott. Scott McCall.”

“Well,” she said, looking at their hands and back up to him awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Scott Scott McCall.” He continued to shake her hand even after she raised an eyebrow at him. “Can I have my hand back?”

He laughed nervously and let her go. A slap on his shoulder reminded him that Stiles was right there.

“Could you excuse us for a sec?” Stiles asked and before she could respond, he dragged his best friend back and away from the new girl in town.

They all moved to the back of the crowd that was still in the middle of the street and when the Gladers and Med-jacks finally moved on to see who they could rescue from the ruins of Rockford, the small group stayed toward the back following along slowly as Stiles tried not to lose his mind. He was concerned for the Hales and Derek, but he pushed that thought aside as his best friend and brand new werewolf was probably making the worst decision ever in the history of decision-making.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Stiles whispered as loudly as he could without arousing suspicion. “Are you insane? She’s a Hunter! What are you thinking? You trying to get yourself killed?”

Scott looked ashamed and shrugged. “She’s beautiful… for a Hunter.”

Stiles slapped a hand against his forehead and dragged it down his face in exasperation. “This is a development we didn’t need. I was hoping they would take longer to get here than they did. Who knew that pigeons fly so fast?”

“So much for us being all superhero-y and clunk,” said Isaac.

“Stiles, calm down,” said Scott. “It’ll be fine.”

“Oh yeah,” said Lydia. “It’ll be fine right up until the full moon rises tonight. Then our heads will be mounted on your girlfriend’s wall. Provided I’m not completely out of my mind by then.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” said Scott defensively. “I just met her.”

“Oh no,” said Isaac, “she’s definitely your girlfriend. I saw the look she gave you.”

“Guys!” said Stiles. “Can we focus? We haven’t got time for all this star-crossed lovers, Romeo and Juliet clunk right now, okay? We need to find Derek. Derek can help.”

“How?” asked Scott.

“Yeah,” said Isaac. “Won’t they just kill him too?”

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If we tell Derek you were turned, he’ll know what to do. I don’t know what to do with a bunch of newly bitten teen wolves. Do you?”

They all looked sufficiently discouraged at that.

“Exactly,” said Stiles. “Which is why we need an experienced werewolf around.”

“So we head north?” asked Lydia. “Just peel off and disappear into the woods right now?”

“Can we do that without anyone noticing?” asked Isaac, eying the already fading line of Gladers in front of them.

“Just slow down and eventually we’ll fall behind a turn in the road,” said Stiles.

“No,” said Scott, jogging ahead of them. The others gave him a dumbfounded look. “Look, we have until moonrise, right? So? Let’s do what we said we were going to do: help out any survivors of Rockford. We can’t ditch them like this. We can help them. Come on!” He turned and jogged after the last of the Gladers’ rescue party.

“Scott!” shouted Stiles and ran after him, catching him up. “Scott, think about this.” He pulled his best friend to a stop and turned him. The other two hung behind, but Stiles could tell that Isaac was listening intently with his new super-hearing. “If you go and help, and let’s say somebody’s trapped under a beam - a beam a normal 18-year-old kid wouldn’t be able to budge - and you lift it and free the guy… what happens then? How do we explain your sudden increase in strength?”

“He’s right,” called Isaac.

“But I really think-” started Scott.

“Look man, your heart’s in the right place, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry - namely your first full moon,” said Stiles. “Please, Scott.”

Scott turned to watch the last of the Glader rescue party move around another bend in the Trader Road, disappearing from view. He hung his head. “Yeah, okay. But this whole thing is going to kill my mom.” His head flew up in a panic. “Stiles! What the hell am I going to tell my mom?!”

“Let’s think of something while we head north, okay buddy?” said Stiles.

“Let’s go!” urged Lydia and all four of them disappeared into the Wolf Wood.

 

~080~

 

They were lying in the courtyard like yesterday’s garbage. He could see that they weren’t breathing. He could hear that their hearts weren’t beating anymore either.

He knelt between them and gently brushed aside a lock of his mother’s hair. Her eyes were almost closed, frozen still.

He pressed the back of his fingers to her cheek. She was as chill as the autumn air around them.

He eventually collapsed to sit between them, falling heavily, too numb to cry.

In the distance he could hear people and movement, but he was still and quiet and he knew they couldn’t hear him.

Eventually he turned his gaze to his sister. He felt her cheek as well; it too was as cold as ice.

The words ‘powerless’ and ‘impotent’ crossed his mind, but even they weren’t enough to describe the inadequacy and pain he felt. He needed a darker word than black; a lonelier word than alone.


	23. Chapter 23

He sniffed at the air. The morning was clear, but his senses were on high alert. Cora had said that there were Hunters in the woods now and he knew he’d better be careful. His name would be at the top of their list. He shifted and ran south as fast as he could. He needed to find out what he was going to do about the Hunters and where they were and how many there were.

He had hoped to gain the Maze by easier means of coercion and fear, but no matter. There was more than one way to skin Maze rats. And now that the added pressure of Hunters was in the mix, he said a small prayer that the second option he learned about years ago still existed.

But more than anything, right now, he prayed that Preacher had told him the truth.

Peter remembered the war. He remembered his sister’s order to separate the humans from the other wolves, to save them. He fought hard at her side that day, not realizing that he was on the path to ultimate loneliness. All those Gladers saved and not one to mate with. Not one to call “friend”. Not one who was willing to become wolf-kind, to take the bite and make the change and become Hale pack. The ingratitude galled him.

But the preacher, the old man who tried to save everyone’s soul - even his - was the only one to show him some kind of reciprocation. The old man had lived in the Maze long before the war. He and a handful of his other “parishioners” had seen the Maze as a kind of holy arc to hide in until the tidal wave of human poison was past them.

It was Preacher who told him about the tunnel under the Maze.

They had gotten in that way, he had told him. And if it still existed, Peter Hale knew he could get in that way too. The old man had told him as a way of thanking him, of hoping that he and his family might find the Maze just as much a sanctuary in hard times as he and his group had.

And Peter’s times had never been harder than now.

His heart beat hard in his chest as he padded along on all fours, his terrible wolf form allowing him to hear and see farther than a mere human. He listened past his heartbeat, past his breathing, searching for the sudden call of birds disturbed, squirrels running and chattering because humans were nearby. He heard nothing of the kind.

Moving as swiftly as the wind he gained up one hillock and down into the next dale; he was a blur of motion to anything observing him. He’d need all the sudden swiftness he could muster as he careened out of the shelter of the wood and down the Northern Road that led to the Maze. He veered more and more to the east as he traveled, regaining the woods and moving toward the river in earnest.

The Preacher better not have lied to him; the passageway better be real. His whole plan depended on it.

 

~080~

 

“Derek!” It felt like her voice was so loud in the square. Nothing stirred. She saw him first and then she caught sight of the others. Suddenly, Cora couldn’t talk anymore.

She walked numbly to him. He looked so small. They all did.

She came to the other side of her mother and knelt, willing her to blink, breathe, to do something, anything.

_No. No no no no nonononononononono NO!_

Cora was crying before she could stop it. It came out of her in gasps and chokes, welling up from deep inside her where only her deepest, darkest fears lay.

Everything was wrong. Everything was broken. Nothing would ever be right again. All she had left was Derek and judging by the vacant look on his face, he was next to useless. Peter had destroyed them all.

Why had he told her where to find them? How had he been able to act that casually, shrugging off the mere mention of her when he knew - he knew! - she was dead and laying discarded in a heap in the middle of an abandoned town square? She shuddered at his cruelty.

She watched the shadow of the fountain’s tip reach for her mother’s hand. She couldn’t let the cold shade touch her mother. All at once it was vitally important that nothing that wasn’t family touch her mother. Seconds fell away and the shadow inched closer. It was a fingernail’s width away when she gasped and looked to Derek.

“We need to take care of them,” she said, her voice cracking.

He didn’t respond. “We need to bury them, Derek,” she said again.

His eyes met hers at that and with a single nod, they rose as one. He carried Talia and she carried Laura toward the edge of the town where there was a small overgrown cemetery near the Northern Road.

Some rummaging in the small keeper’s shack yielded two shovels and a blank headstone. They buried their dead in silence.

It took some doing, but Cora found a bit of wolfsbane in the wood nearby. They replanted it over the graves, being sure not to inhale its scent or get any pollen on themselves. Even with all their care, they were calmer, more numb. The wolfsbane was a strong one. Slowly, as if in a dream, Derek and Cora set stones in an outer-spiraling curve away from where the wolfsbane had been replanted on the two graves, a symbol that would mean the same thing to all supernatural creatures: revenge.

As they finished the afternoon was waning into early evening. They walked slowly away from the last of their family and toward the one creature on earth who would pay for their destruction: Peter.

 

~080~

 

She didn’t want to have to walk through that decimated village, but she couldn’t let her father down. She had to show the people of the Maze that she was a Hunter through and through. She looked around for Scott, but she didn’t see him among the others. She assumed he was there, but there were too many milling about and her grandfather was taking charge and shouting orders and she had to pay attention. She had to follow them dutifully.

They set about searching the township in small groups: her father, the head of Maze security, Mr. Stilinski, and another Glader named Dr. Deaton formed one group. Her grandfather and she took another group to include Mr. Lahey and the deputy. Her aunt took still another a few more Gladers to search with her.

She wasn‘t sure she wanted to find more survivors or more dead. She thought that if anyone survived, they wouldn’t survive long. She knew her grandfather would look for bite marks as well as burns. She didn’t know if the deputy or Mr. Lahey would be agreeable to putting down one of the bitten, but her grandfather would want to - especially on the eve of a full moon.

They picked their way carefully up one street and down another, the demolished and burnt out buildings crowding in on the pathways, debris covering the roads. They shouted out and listened carefully for response, but didn’t find any at first. Slowly and carefully they worked their way to the back corner of the village and then painstakingly began to search each and every home. Most were intact on this side and she could see the back doors of the buildings open and whole against the structures.

She suggested to split up and each person take a building, but the men were older and wiser and argued against it. They were safer together should a portion of the building prove unstable. They didn’t want to have to rescue the rescuers. She saw the sense in it and searched everywhere inside each home, peeking under rickety stairs and inside cabinets where even small children might get an idea to hide.

After several hours, the deputy suggested a meet up with one of the other teams to find out if they discovered anyone. Her grandfather and Lahey nodded their assent and they were making to leave when Allison heard it. It was faint, but repeated itself. She stopped her father and the sheriff with a sign. They all listened attentively. There it was again.

Had she not been paying attention, they all could have written it off as a creak of the wooden floor beneath them.

Slowly Allison turned, moving forward on cat’s feet. The whimper came again and the dying light in the room was cause for her to turn on her flashlight.

“Careful,” warned her grandfather with a whisper. “It’ll be moonrise in a few minutes. You don’t know what’s in there.”

She nodded to him and paused again, listening.

A low slow whimper came from beneath the floorboards. It sounded like a child. She risked a worried glance to her grandfather, but he was busy looking toward the sound. His mouth was set in a firm line and raised his weapon. The deputy met her gaze with a worried look, but she kept her aspect neutral as she tried to control her nerves.

There was a scraping and shifting of earth beneath the house and they all froze in place. Allison’s foot was on a floorboard that was loose and she bent to lift it, looking to her grandfather out of the corner of her eye. The board came away easily and revealed a child of about five or six peering up at them in the gloom.

Her grandfather lowered his weapon but stayed alert. Mr. Lahey made a sound of disappointment.

“Oh my God…” escaped the deputy’s lips as the terrified boy looked back at them all.

“Are the monsters gone?” he asked them.

Allison smiled. “Yes, sweetheart. They are. Are you hurt?”

“The monster bit me,” he said weakly. A small pale hand came up out of the hole, filthy, and covered in blood. The bite in his forearm was unmistakable.

“Damn,” said the deputy under his breath.

“Oh sweetie,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Connor,” he replied. “Where’s my mommy and grandpa?”

“I don’t know, Connor,” she said.

“Did the monsters get them?” he asked.

“Why don’t we get you out of there and clean you up?” she asked him. Tears streamed down openly on her face, but she smiled through them. “Then maybe we can find your mom and grandpa, huh?”

The boy nodded and allowed himself to be lifted up. He was skinny and tow-headed with deep brown eyes.

“You’ve been scared for a while, huh?” she asked him. He nodded. Her grandfather knelt to look at the boy’s wound. “Well?” she asked him.

“It’s deep,” he said gravely, then added smiling at the boy: “But you look pretty strong. You’re going to be alright.”

“Listen, we’ve got to get him out of here,” said Deputy Parrish.

“Agreed,” said her grandfather, standing up. He looked down at Allison. “We’ll make sure the coast is clear for you to carry him out.” He turned his weapon over to her. “Take this just in case.”

She stared at him for several seconds, not wanting to comprehend what he was asking her. She looked curiously at him. His gaze was stony, unwavering.

“Remember,” he said to her, “moonrise will happen any time soon." He paused before telling her carefully: "Take care of him.” He ushered the other men out, Lahey’s face unreadable, the deputy’s confused but cooperative.

Her heart was in her throat. Despite the wave of nausea that overtook her, she looked to Connor and smiled. “You’re going to be alright, Connor. We’ll protect you and keep you safe from the monsters.” She stood and offered her free hand, the gun heavy in the other. The child took her hand willingly, smiling up at her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and it broke her heart.

 

~080~

 

North, north, and more north, the wood seemed to go on forever. They made it to the edge of what was commonly known as the Wolf Wood, but passed its borders without realizing it. Once they made the clearing between the wildwoods and the Wolf Wood, Lydia stopped them to get their bearings.

“Do we know where exactly we’re going?” she asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Just north. That’s all I know.”

“What’s north of here that Derek would be going to?” asked Isaac.

“He said he was going after his sister and mother. That a wolf named Deucalion took them and was based north of the Maze. Just how far north is anyone’s guess.”

“If memory serves, Burney was north of Rockford,” said Lydia. “But it’s a ghost town. No one’s lived there for years.”

“How exactly do you know that?” asked Isaac.

“What? I’ve seen a map of the area before. Haven’t you?”

All three boys shook their heads. Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Well… Burney is north of here and then there’s McCloud that sits right at the bottom of Mt. Shasta, but that’s north of Burney.”

“Well if I were looking to hide someone where I didn’t want them found, I would go for a ghost town,” said Scott.

“Good,” said Lydia. “Burney it is then.”

Soon they picked out the North Road and trudged along its weedy way. Had they all been turned, they would have run, but because of Stiles and Lydia, they walked at a steady pace. More than once, Scott and Isaac offered to carry them both piggy-back, but Lydia pointed out that they were still new to being wolf-kind and couldn’t yet control their abilities. All it took for them to double over with pain was the onslaught of a loud bird cry or the sharp tang of burnt human flesh that was carried on the wind from what was left of Rockford. More than once, Scott thought he was going to puke.

“I wish we had more control,” he said as he leaned against a tree, sick to his stomach again.

“No kidding,” said Isaac. He looked over at Stiles. “Alpha, Beta, Omega, right?”

Stiles nodded. “That’s what Derek does. It’s a focus point. Something to cling to when you’re body’s going crazy, I guess.”

“Like an anchor,” suggested Lydia.

“Yeah,” said Stiles.

“Can it be something else?” asked Isaac.

Stiles shrugged. “I suppose you can use whatever works for you.”

“Good,” said Isaac, “because I think I’m gonna need it soon.”

“What time is it?” asked Lydia. The light had faded considerably and Lydia was sure that they were close to Burney, but not close enough.

“I have no idea,” said Stiles.

“Moonrise,” whispered Scott. He pointed off toward the white orb just above the horizon between the trees. He regarded Stiles with eyes that glinted gold. “Run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment in this series will be entitled: "The Second Maze War"  
> Expect it in approximately 2 months (November 1st-ish).  
> Sorry, but it really does take me that long.  
> BE PATIENT!   
> STAY WITH ME!


End file.
